Pan's New Flute
by gugalanna1
Summary: Postanime. Integra and company find themselves enemies of the Queen. A new terror arrives in the wake of Incognito's demise. Very AxI. Rated for gore and future chappies. Officially an Integra centric fic.
1. Fugitives

As per usual, I own nothing except Alucard's hat

He was her knight in shining armor; armor that dripped scarlet blood, pooling at their feet between weary bodies, trailing behind them as he carried her past dismembered and drenched bodies. He killed for her on a daily basis. Strike that, he'd kill anyway. Alucard was, after all, a vampire. But he'd never considered making murder a religion until she began to shout at him.

At the tender age of 13, Integra Hellsing had been nothing to look at. A scrawny little girl in a tent of clothing, hiding what meager curves a teen might claim. But icy blue eyes burnt through him in exhilarating self-righteous anger. She was terrified. He could smell it. He'd thought he could take advantage of that. Blood was blood, after all. The previous Hellsing broke the seal between master and mastered, and now Alucard had no loyalties. And her blood tasted so sweet, like the freshest water in a desert well. He was so thirsty, so _very_ thirsty. Even now, he felt his fangs elongate, felt the tinge of red push at his vision.

He tried to tell himself it was the blood. He would undeniably be connected to the child-woman who woke him up. It tasted different than others'. Even Mina—sweet, darling Mina—had not tasted so delicious, so intoxicating.

Alucard nuzzled into Integra's hair, inhaling her scent. Blood was caked in her hair, spotted on her face. She smelled of warmth, expensive cigars and coffee. Such moments as these were so rare, and he intended to take advantage of her incapacity, dire as it was. Alucard never claimed to be a gentleman.

He carried her swiftly but gently through the dank halls of her imprisonment, cradling her limp body close to his own. Her blood mingled with his in a bastardized version of vampiric coupling. After Incognito's unfortunate accident upon the roof of the church, Alucard had immediately begun to reform Integra's personal army—currently consisting of himself, Seras and a recently, eh, "released" Walter. Alucard had to persuade the guards to let them walk out. He supposed he could have been more violent, but really what was the point? He did enjoy threatening merely by being present in the room.

Which brought him back to the woman sleeping in his arms. Did she know her precarious situation? She was in more danger with him, unconscious and oblivious to all around her, than she ever could be with the Queen's guard in the Tower. Sentenced to rot in a tiny cell, where she'd more than likely have died of pneumonia from the damp before her enemies ever got to her, Integra had taken incarceration quite well, he thought. That is, until he'd shown up and offered her a way out.

He grimaced, tightening his grip on her, remembering Integra's poorly hidden longing and even more apparent disgust. Even when faced with such an impossible situation, she refused his blood. He hated her and admired her for it. He hated himself for wanting it so much. Why should he let her affect him so? Blood was blood, damn it!

Integra's blood was currently seeping out of a wound in her side to trickle in thin rivulets down his duster. That was a problem. Having burst into the room just as Alucard made his move on his young master—he knew she would have given in—the guards began to fire at will. As he said, his ungodly presence was terrifying in the extreme. The bullets at first did nothing to him as he shielded Integra from the onslaught. But then mercury began to burn in his chest, his neck, legs and groin. He could defeat dried up relics of ancient Egypt, live centuries in an eternal war against God and Devil but he was not entirely immune to that single element. Though his flesh had already begun to mend—bones reattaching themselves, spidery veins melting together, skin pulling taught to heal without scars, pain transforming into anger and power—Integra did not fair as well. Though he had tried to protect her from the worst of the bullet shower, it was a tiny room and there were many guns. One bullet caught her just above her hip and she fell.

Even now, with her body prone against his, her life blood leaking out in alarming amounts, Alucard had difficulty suppressing the instinct to drop to the floor and suck her dry. Why he didn't was lodged rather uncomfortably in the back of his mind. He would deal with that later. For now, he concentrated on hauling himself and his master out of the Tower and away from Her Majesty's wrath.

A/N: So, uh, yeah. This is not a one-shot. For once. So more is to come. Hopefully. Unless I get hit by a bus or jump out a window. I know I left a lot of stuff unanswered, which is why there is more to follow. Yeah, so the invisible monkey on this page commands you to read.


	2. Carnelian Chameleon

Pan's New Flute

Chapter 2: Carnelian Chameleon

Integra was aware of hushed voices around her, gentle fingers deftly changing bandages. She smelled the pungent, tart scent of antiseptic. The rip of surgical tape tore through her aching head, like a band-aid ripped off the arm.

"I'll treat her today, but it's the last time. I don't want to become anymore embroiled in this than I already am."

Integra opened her eyes slowly, the images fuzzy and somewhat shapeless. All she could discern were colors. Where were her glasses? She winced from the high fluorescent lighting.

The pain in her side had diminished into a dull, throbbing sting. She couldn't remember being awake before now, but she did recall the sharp, piercing pain of a bullet, then arms embracing her as she slunk to the ground. Red filled her sight, and she didn't know if it was the blood or Alucard. Dimly, she wondered where he was.

Walter sat in a corner, slumped in a small wooden chair. His right leg was extended in a cast before him, beside a crutch. His eyes were closed, and his single spectacle lay over his chest on the chain she'd given him nearly a decade ago. His head lay against the wall in utter exhaustion. Likely he was asleep. He looked alright, though. Tired and much older than his 57 years, but alive.

"Sir Integra!" A soft squeal of delight and surprise reverberated through her ears. Integra craned her head slowly to see Seras' bright face hovering over her own. Large red eyes that still had not lost their youthful naiveté blinked owlishly at Integra's. She was smiling, but that was no indication of the situation. More movement on her left demanded her attention.

Pain ripped through her side, and she gasped. Seras' cheerful countenance dissolved into one of concern and reproach. And—distaste? Integra thought suddenly that she was in a quite vulnerable position, as close as she was to a young and thus impulsive vampire. But Seras ignored the blood that began to ooze again through the bandage, turning away and focusing on Walter.

"Ms. Hellsing?" A firm and somewhat annoyed voice snapped through the bite of her injury. Integra hadn't noticed the doctor herself, who was currently peeling back layers of blood-encrusted gauze. Some of it stuck in dried scabs to her wound. Integra winced at each pinch of the fabric.

"Ms. Hellsing? Do you know where you are?" What an asinine question. How the hell would she know where she was? She'd only just awakened. Integra licked her lips and tried to swallow the sand in her throat.

"No." The voice that emerged was not her own. Hoarse and barely above a whisper, Integra swallowed and tried again. "Who are you?" That was what she intended to say, but it sounded more like a boulder scraping on gravel. Integra waited for an answer, but when no information was forthcoming, she gave up. Seras leaned over and held a cup to Integra's lips. She sipped cool water. Never had Integra tasted anything so sweet and wonderful. She eagerly drank more, draining the glass. After drinking her fill, Integra turned her attention once again to the doctor. Whoever this person was, she wasn't very bright or courteous. Another pull from the gauze, and Integra let out a small curse. Integra tried to survey the room, but couldn't see and couldn't concentrate past the pain of her wound. Every time she breathed in, she imagined her skin tearing a little more.

"I am Dr. Ambrose. Lili Ambrose." More peeling. A soft sweep of iodine-soaked cotton. Really, the doctor's reticence was deplorable.

"Alucard brought you here, sir." Seras said softly. "Do you remember anything that happened at the Tower?" Integra nodded. Alucard had advanced toward her, so close they were almost touching, grinning ear to ear like a cat that's finally cornered his mouse. He'd shattered the wineglass. She remembered it pooling on the floor, imagined her own blood in its place and backed away from Alucard. Then the cell door had burst open and gunfire immediately ensued. After that, all she remembered was the bullet, her less than graceful fall and Alucard's arms. She would not speak of that, however. Damn the man, where was he?

"How—?" Integra began, cleared her throat and tried again. "How did you and Walter come to be here? Come to that, where is 'here'?"

"This is my Da's old office." She scuffed her foot lightly on the floor. "It was the only place we could think of to go. We've no friends, sir." That last was said bitterly. For the moment, the girlish enthusiasm vanished, replaced by weariness uncommon in one so young. It faded quickly, and she perked up for the rest of the story. "I was never arrested. Alucard came to me shortly after your incarceration, and together we sprung Walter from his confinement at the hospital." Seras grinned. "Honestly, sir, you should have seen Master Alucard! And the guards, they were petrified!" She giggled nervously, aware how Integra tended to react to misconduct from her servant. She was angry. She wondered what damage Alucard had wrought on the guards. The thought of the vampire's rage against human beings, humans who once had hailed her and the Hellsing Organization as comrades, made her furious. What of the Queen, and her oath as a Knight of England? The Queen likely had a death warrant now with Integra's name on it. Even more likely as it was high treason committed by a knight. Her eyes closed again, listening to Seras' voice drone on excitedly about Alucard's prowess in killing officers of Her Majesty's army. How could he act so rashly, so arrogantly? More than that, what induced him to deliberately disregard his loyalties to Integra? At that, a tinge of fear settled through her. He had acted entirely independently of her orders, of his seal with her family. Ignoring Ambrose's protests, Integra struggled to sit up and broke through the drivel, speaking bitingly.

"Where is Alucard?"

The vampire in question was seated on a divan underground. He mused silently that perhaps the police girl had her uses. Certainly it was fortunate that her father's city offices had been maintained by his daughter. For once, Alucard found himself grateful for such sentimentality. As it was, said emotions had a way of getting him into trouble. Such as now. Three days after the attack in Integra's cell, and he still wasn't up to par. His wounds from the mercury still burned, though the bullets had long since disintegrated into his amorphous substance, the flesh physically healed. His powers were weak. His desire, his _need _for blood peaked. Without the organization, he had none of the convenient, albeit distasteful blood packets provided him. While he knew lack of blood would not kill him—at this point he seriously doubted anything could—it was certainly most uncomfortable.

Integra had expressly forbidden him to drink directly from human beings. Aside from the single exception with that disgusting journalist Kim, he was commanded to never again molest a human being. Those were her exact words. But he knew she'd watched, fascinated and longing. He felt it; even as he drained Kim, all his senses were trained on Integra. She hated that human woman as much as he did, and enjoyed his feeding just as he did. He remembered Integra's rapid heart beat, her chest rising and falling rapidly, the barely audible breath hissing between her lips. Her face remained stoic on the outside—it was one of her many talents—but he knew how she felt. He didn't need to read her mind to tell she was aroused. It was—erotic. He couldn't have cared less about the journalist girl; it was Integra's reaction that fueled the fire in his veins.

Alucard shifted in his seat, made uncomfortable not only from his wounds but the hardness he felt between his legs. Not the first time, certainly. Integra woke him up in more ways than one that night ten years ago. He hadn't been so aroused since—well, best not to think about how long it'd been.

Alucard lay prostrate on his back. It disgusted him, being this weak. He'd have to find a way to overcome this meager vulnerability of his.

"Mercury!" He spat out between his teeth. The sound tasted like dead blood in his throat. Immune to silver, holy water, blessings, starvation and hell only knew what else; but tiny little mercury bullets could wreak such havoc on his body. He was uncomfortable with the idea. But then it seemed like there were many tiny things that affected him in the most surprising ways.

Take Integra, for instance. Treacherous, how his mind continually returned to her. He'd betrayed himself, that moment in the cellar, that dungeon in which he'd been forced to rot into oblivion. The seal had been broken. Part of the bargain between master and slave, between Hellsing and Alucard was trust. At that, Alucard grinned. Well, perhaps not trust precisely, but recognition of mutual need. Hellsing had the potential, so he'd claimed, to smear Alucard's insubstantial existence into the floors of the castle if he were so inclined. And Alucard supposed he could have. He knew for a fact that Integra possessed such ability. Hellsing in turn, found Alucard's powers quite convenient. In reality though, Hellsing simply liked to be called "master". Alucard noticed the British had a tendency toward control issues. But it was true throughout the human species that there were those who ruled and those who were to be ruled. Alucard was not one to be ruled. He'd abided it over the centuries as a diversion. At least, that was what he told himself.

That night in the cellar was his freedom. It should have been. He'd intended it to be so. From the moment he'd felt Integra's presence in the world, even in his comatose state he could sense her, smell her, feel her every breath, her lashes—slightly darker than her platinum hair—brush against her cheek as she closed her eyes at night to sleep. He planned it from the beginning. She would be his freedom. Not revenge, never revenge. A being as old as Alucard had no use for revenge. Every human would die off eventually, and in Hellsing's line of work the end would likely be violent. Alucard didn't care about humans. Of course, the odd one every now and then amused him for more than just appetite…

Alucard shifted again, gingerly straightening a leg. If he could just lie here undisturbed for a few days, everything would be alright. He dimly wondered if Integra would consent to a hunt.

Ironic, really, that the object of his freedom would become the woman of his obsession. A chain in her own right, forged irreparably to him. In her, he truly had become the slave he so despised. How very Hegelian, he thought, and closed his eyes.

"Where is he?" Integra abandoned the idea of sitting up. Above all she would not make a scene or provide her underlings with proof of frailty. Though it galled her, she would lie in bed and order her servant to come to her. That was how things were done anyway.

"He's down below, in the storage basement." Why was he avoiding her? Usually he missed no opportunity to taunt her in the midst of her human weaknesses. An alien thought occurred to her. Was he injured? Surely not! For that matter, Integra wasn't entirely certain the monster could be truly hurt. Weakened, certainly, but outright put down? Seras was still talking. "—mercury bullets. Would you like me to call him?" By call she meant psychically. Unnerving how quickly a vampire's power grows.

"No, leave him. And leave me. I wish to be alone." To think, sleep, cry. Unshed tears would cloud her eyes at the loss of her purpose. Her knighthood stripped and her holy obligation in ruin. Her men dead or imprisoned. It wasn't the title Integra mourned, but her place in life. She'd found her purpose and was damn good at it. When it was stripped from her, her life went with it. A wounded and bleeding fugitive of her liege's justice, with naught but a limping old man and two vampires to aid her. And a bumbling doctor, though who Dr. Ambrose was and how long she'd stay Integra had no idea. Not that it mattered.

Seras and Dr. Ambrose left the room, leaving Walter propped up against the wall. Integra was loathe to move the injured man; he looked nearly as bad as she did, and his sleeping would not disturb her own. She turned her head away and closed her eyes. There was so much to do, but nothing to do at all. Normally, there'd be paper work up to her ears, always a new horde of undead to face off. There was always someone, or something, that wanted her dead. Well, she thought miserably, at least that had not changed. Tomorrow. She would think on what to do tomorrow.

_Cold hands pressed against her face, turning it, directing her gaze. Soft, reptilian lips brushed against hers, a tongue seeking admittance. Integra hesitated one moment, leaning in to the embrace before she pushed away. Low, feminine laughter echoed in her head. Around her were walls, grey and smooth. The floor was smooth and cool. _

_"Integra. Push away now, but how long will you continue? You deny your pet, but will you, **can** you deny me?" Something long and thin and silver was in Integra's hands. She ran her finger down it, bemused and curious. Red clouded her vision, and a feminine shriek reverberated down the walls, slinking into the floor, gliding across Integra's bare feet. She looked at her hands, and her fingers were bleeding._

Integra woke up to a change in the air. Though nearly imperceptible, she'd grown used to the small alterations in space and matter Alucard made by his presence. The air was heavier, substantial. No longer just air, but Alucard himself. She turned over slowly and gazed up him.

His hat was off, but his yellow tinged glasses remained perched above his nose, his red eyes gleaming over the rim.

Integra cleared her throat, blinking fuzzily in the dark. She fumbled at the table beside her for her glasses, succeeding only in knocking them to the floor. A mumbled curse spilled from her lips. Alucard bent and picked them up, examining the lens and the nosepiece. He studied it like it was a foreign object. Integra watched, curious as to what he was going to do, and not a little concerned by his proximity. She was aware of her scant clothing, the light shirt open to her chest, exposing unbound cleavage. Finally, Alucard placed the glasses on her face, settling them lightly on her nose.

"What are you doing here?" She asked quietly. She didn't want to wake up Walter. But glancing over to his post on the chair, she became slightly alarmed that he was, in fact, gone. When had he left? Why? Now she was alone with Alucard. Not that she hadn't had occasion to be alone with him before. But tonight she was lying wounded and vulnerable in bed, scantily clad.

"You called me here, don't you remember?" He meant earlier. When she first awakened. Had he heard her thoughts then? She should have suspected it, but the idea still disturbed her. What time was it? For that matter, what day was it? She'd been too out of it with exhaustion and pain to pay much attention to anything Seras told her.

Integra sat up slowly, feeling as though someone were pulling apart her insides. Wincing slightly, she pointedly ignored Alucard's intense gaze.

"What did you dream?" He asked her softly. Integra stopped struggling and went very still. Her breath stopped for one moment before she continued, as though he'd asked her what she was having for tea.

"I don't think that's any of your business, Alucard. Is that why you came?" She'd succeeded in propping herself up against the wall. She looked around and realized she was on a futon that had been unfolded into a bed. She could feel the metal bars beneath her body; one was poking her in a very uncomfortable place. "I was led to believe that your injuries were too gruesome for you to move." Her voice was in part mocking, part inquiring. His face went blank, eyes hardening, mouth set in a grim line.

"Mercury bullets. They are of no trouble now." Integra nodded absently. She was preoccupied with her dream. She'd never seen the woman who kissed her, who demanded her attention. She felt like she knew her though. When the woman kissed her, Integra had felt a shock of recognition, surging through her. She knew who that woman was; she knew they'd met at some other time. The thought disturbed her greatly. More than once before, Integra had dreams that proved to be prophetic.

Integra's eyes narrowed when she realized that Alucard's gaze was fixed to her lap. They were murky, almost black the red was so dark He looked—hungry. She'd only ever seen that look on his face when she first began menstruating. After she realized his reaction, Integra had ordered Alucard to stay away from her at that time of the month. Now she looked down and was startled to see her hand bleeding. It wasn't much, but the blood ran between her fingers. She lifted her hand and frowned, studying the blood in the dark. Her eyes widened, remembering her dream. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible.

Alucard was suddenly leaning over her, his glasses gone, and picked up her hand. She tried to jerk back, but he held fast.

"Let go of me this instant." She snarled in a low voice. Alucard ignored her. Her protests died when he raised her hand to his mouth, smelling the blood, closing his eyes against her skin. His tongue darted out to taste, and Integra let a soft gasp of fear escape. How dared he? How dared he touch her, lick her, _drink_ from her? This time, when she snatched her hand back, he let her go.

Alucard tasted the silver in her blood. And he felt a bit of her dream, not much, but he tasted the woman's lips as though they rested on his. Heard her soft, cooing voice in his head. Integra cradled her hand and glared at him, malice brewing in her eyes.

"How did you injure yourself?" He asked her.

"Get out!" Integra spat angrily. She swept her hand angrily to the door. Alucard remained where he was. Integra was chilled by his expression. Was that—was that _fear_ she saw on his mouth? Impossible. Even when Incognito made himself known, Alucard had delighted in the challenge. "Get out, now." Integra repeated. Alucard hesitated a moment, then spoke.

"We must speak of this. You must tell me what you saw, what you did." Then he merged into the wall and disappeared. Integra dropped her hand and sat a moment, breathing, thankful she could still breathe. He was too presumptuous. He enjoyed frightening her. But tonight, she sensed there was something brewing behind those eyes. Something was wrong, if Alucard was on edge.

A/N: I tried to keep all in character. If I failed, let me know. So yeah, I'm a review whore, (but not the kind that refuses to update without them). Hope you like. I can promise that the rating will go higher. If it gets to be too racy, you'll find this fic either on my website or I'll let y'all know if and when that happens. Oh, and I guess I should note that I've only seen the anime. I've never read the manga. Dunno how it affects the fic, but there you go.


	3. Visionaries and Liars

A/N: Standard disclaimer applies. In addition, I will confess, I am not extraordinarily familiar with the organization MI-5. So, _all_ "original" characters (cringe at the term), animals and legalities belong to me. What I don't know, I make up.

**Pan's New Flute**

Chapter 3: Visionaries and Liars

Alucard materialized outside Integra's door and leaned back against the wall. Gloved hands in his pockets, hooded eyes concealed by glasses and an oversized hat, Alucard thought heavily on what he'd seen.

Integra's blood hadn't shown him much. He didn't understand who the invisible figure was in her dream. Alucard heard the reptilian voice whispering salaciously to Integra, seducing her, taunting her. _That_ was definitely distressing, though Alucard was more than irked by the nature of his concern than fear of any possible harm to Integra.

Any new threat could easily be taken care of; Alucard enjoyed such jobs, challenges. There would be no threat to Integra herself. What disturbed Alucard was the silver in her blood. What could she have sliced herself with that would leave its own tainted essence marked in her blood?

Walter stepped out of the adjacent room and interrupted Alucard's unnerving train of thought. Standing up straight and grinning from ear to ear, Alucard surveyed the old man, one of few he'd consider calling _friend_.

"Walter." The aged butler supported himself on a single crutch and displayed a small, clean bandage on his forehead.

"Just checking up on Sir Integra." Walter said warily. Though he admired Alucard—for his attitude, mostly—Walter was hard put to entirely trust the vampire. That would be stupid indeed. Walter didn't fully understand the terms of the contract between Alucard and the Hellsing family, but he knew Alucard despised servitude.

Which was why Walter now stood outside Integra's room.

Though she might not feel any qualms about allowing a blood drinker into her room when she was so defenseless, Walter certainly felt uncomfortable with the idea. But, he reflected, he would not be nearly as concerned had it been Seras, and not Alucard, lurking in the hall. Probably because Seras didn't lurk quite as effectively as Alucard.

"Walter, watch Integra closely tonight. Listen carefully, should she begin to speak in her sleep."

"Where are you going?" Walter asked him. Alucard paused, his back to the old man. He turned only his head to study Walter out of the corner of his eye.

"To reconnoiter." He lightly tipped his hat and merged into the shadows. Walter hesitated only a moment before he quietly opened the door and stepped into Integra's room.

Seras Victoria was currently entertaining the notion of hunting down the good Dr. Ambrose and biting her head off. Having left late last night, promptly after changing Sir Integra's bandages, Dr. Ambrose had left Seras nothing but old rags for future treatment.

"How irresponsible of her!" Seras fumed. She could understand the doctor's reservations about aiding possible criminals—not to mention the disturbing spectacle Alucard himself must make. But to abandon a patient in the middle of the night? Really!

Seras was on the hunt for bedding and anything else she might find to make Sir Integra and Walter more comfortable. Her father's old rented offices were now closed, thankfully. The building had not been condemned, yet, but it was likely to be declared so soon. If she remembered correctly, these four blocks of the city were in the process of re-zoning. Instead of offices, apartments and condos were in the blueprints to be built. Condemning property was the easiest—and quickest—way to knock it down.

Not much had been changed since her father last came here. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and Seras' hands left prints on the desktops and chairs. But it was spacious and minimally furnished with a couple of futons. Not for the first time, Seras wondered what exactly her father needed or did with office space this large. With two rooms and a bathroom separated by a small hallway, it was like a miniature apartment. He must have paid an exorbitant rent, though that too seemed impossible. Police salary barely took care of their own meager dwellings, much less one such as this.

Seras chose not to think on it too closely. Instead, she was happy to be useful to her master.

Reaching up to the top shelf of a tall chest, Seras' fingers happily met with wool. When Alucard brought Integra here last night, she and Walter were too shocked to do much. It wasn't only Integra's state but Alucard's. Somehow, seeing his body profusely bleeding from several bullet holes was more disturbing to Seras than seeing him as a pool of black-tinged blood. He should have healed more quickly, she thought. Or at least, she was used to him being impervious to bullets.

More searching led to a couple of folded cotton sheets. Two sheets and three smaller blankets seemed like treasure to Seras. She understood that perhaps this was where her father used to stay on the nights he didn't come home. Gathering them up, she tiptoed across the hall to Integra's room. Walter had sat there for the past couple of hours. The poor man was exhausted, but something compelled him to remain vigilant. He wouldn't say what caused his unease. Sir Integra was well past any danger with her wound. Dr. Ambrose had removed the bullet, pronouncing her lucky to have missed any vital organs. The bullet just barely missed Integra's left kidney. All that was left, really, was infection. And as soon as Alucard returned, Seras was going to run to the nearest pharmacy and get more anti-septic and gauze pads. The iodine Dr. Ambrose brought was nearly gone already. And Integra and Walter both would need food. Seras hadn't any idea how long they would have to stay here. Or indeed how long they _could_ stay.

Walter looked up from his seat against the wall. His normally sharp eyes were dulled with fatigue. He smiled dimly at Seras. She offered him one of the blankets, which he accepted. Then she laid one of them over Integra's sleeping form, lightly so as not to disturb her rest.

"Walter, why don't you go in the other room and sleep?" Seras whispered. Walter shook his head.

"I will not leave tonight. It is imperative that someone keep watch tonight over her." Walter didn't mention the ominous warning Alucard had left him with.

"I can look after her, if you like. You really need some rest." Seras tried to persuade him. He smiled lightly and shook his head.

"It is my responsibility, Miss Victoria." Walter frowned, staring intently at Integra's still form on the futon. He seemed far away, his eyes seeing events that happened years ago. A young girl, newly orphaned, left alone with her would-be murderers. Walter shook his head. That was in the past. And he supposed that Integra had ceased to be a child even before she outgrew her schoolgirl clogs.

The two sat in companionable silence, until Walter whispered softly.

"You said these were your father's offices?" Seras nodded, her eyes going soft and sad with memory.

"Yes. I've only been here once before, when I was a little girl. But I know he used to come here three nights a week. I think meetings or something." She fell silent again, but a look of consternation passed over her features. She remembered Harry Anders, the MI-5 agent who somehow knew her father. He'd never had the chance to tell Seras about the connection; he'd been killed early in the fallout from the impediments to the investigation.

Seras sighed. Perhaps she would never know. But then, she didn't know what it was she was even curious about. Something had been gnawing at her since her final meeting with Harry, however. Perhaps it was as Alucard said, that her intuition was getting sharper. How she wished it were true.

She and Walter said nothing for the rest of the night, opting for silence so as not to disturb Integra's restless sleep.

Alucard stalked the streets like a cat on the prowl. Red eyes slid right and left, senses alert for signs of the undead. He traveled sans hat, not wishing to leave too much of an impression on passers-by. Integra's dream had disturbed him greatly. He knew that Incognito had not signaled the end of the battle. Glorious as it was. God, he'd not had a fight like that in centuries. But there was still that matter of the organization responsible for producing the freak chips. Alucard was personally affronted upon the realization that one of his own kind, a true immortal vampire, would lend itself to humans to be copied and passed around. And he was certain that whoever was responsible would not stand down so quickly and easily.

MI-5 was apparently still searching for the perpetrators, with no luck. And the other members of the Round Table Conference, minus two, were getting nowhere in their investigations either.

A small rat scurried across the alley, momentarily illuminated by the quarter moon. Alucard thought, very briefly, of making it a quick meal. He immediately rejected the idea as distasteful and a sign of desperation. Not that he was desperate. Just—annoyed. Integra's blood, though laden with silver, still enticed him. Enough! He put it out of his thoughts and continued.

A familiar voice from the other end of the alley caused Alucard to melt into the walls. Only a series of small, red eyes peeked out as he watched and listened to a most intriguing conversation.

"I don't foresee a problem, Mr. Connolly. The Round Table mole has been taken care of, so there's nothing coming from him. He's in our custody, and he's not getting out for a while—Her Majesty's orders. All other rogue members of MI-5 have been silenced. The Hellsing Organization has been dismantled. There is no opposition anywhere." The speaker was John Richter, chief inspector for MI-5 special operations. Connolly interrupted the agent's next sentence.

"But only last night, Sir Hellsing escaped from the Tower, along with her pet vampire. You may not feel that's important, but I certainly am not about to begin yet another fight." A cigarette was hurriedly lit, smoke swirling around the two men like a malevolent spirit. "We had to destroy three of our labs, because of their meddling investigations." Richter began to speak, but again was cut off mid-sentence. "Not to mention your inept handling of your own agents. I was led to believe that all MI-5 exploration of the chip production would be ceased. Or at least misdirected. However, it took you far too long to silence your 'rogue agents', as you called them. Information was leaked to a member of the Hellsing Organization." The cigarette was extinguished into a puddle at Connolly's feet.

In the shadows, Alucard entertained the notion of _detaining_ the two men himself, but rejected the idea. He knew very well who Mr. Richter was, not to mention _where_ he could be found, as did Integra. Alucard felt she would find this bit of information quite fascinating.

"I've already explained the situation to you, and all problems have since been taken care of. Integra is a fugitive, wanted by every guard in the UK. She is nothing." Richter took a deep breath, trying to calm his temper. Sometimes, the grimy little man really irritated him, what with his whining. "Now, I'm only going to offer once more, then the deal expires." Connolly nodded his head. "10 million quid, 500 chips. To start." Richter added. Connolly grinned, slowly, his eyes lighting up as he realized what it would mean to his organization.

"To start," he repeated, nodding again. The two shook hands, Richter wiping his discreetly on his jacket lapel afterward, and parted ways.

Alucard growled low in his throat, a chuckle working its way up. The idea of a member of the Round Table as someone's whipping dog was immensely amusing. He materialized into the alley, and sauntered out into the streets, heedless of the rain and various wary, innocent stares. Alucard decided to make a detour back to the Hellsing mansion. If they were lucky, the blood supplies would still be intact. Smiling, Alucard walked into a dense patch of fog, fading into it. It was shaping up to be an excellent morning.

A/N #2: First of all, thanks so much to readers and reviewers alike. I'm REALLY sorry it took so long to update, and even sorrier I am not providing a longer, more provocative chapter. I was abroad for a month, and was afflicted by a nasty case of writer's block. Profuse apologies for any suckiness.


	4. Follow the Worms

AN: Thanks to my reviewers. Particular thanks to Thess, who apparently recommended my story to someone. As per usual, I don't own Hellsing characters, etc, yadda, yadda. Also note: either I'm really stupid or is fucking with my format; I can't put any kind of scene breaks (semicolons, spaces, lines, etc)in here without them disappearing once I upload the chapter. If anyone can help me, PLEASE let me know. For now, to let you know when the scene changes, I'm making the first word (of said scene change) **BOLD**. Sorry, I know that sucks.

**Pan's New Flute**

Chapter 4: Follow the Worms

Integra sat up gingerly, testing the pain of her wound. She felt vaguely nauseous, and her head was still threatening to split in two. But she couldn't just lie here any longer. There were things to be done, though she had no idea what. She had to figure out a way to get herself out of the mess Alucard managed to put her—and Walter—in. Integra was pretty sure there was a hefty warrant out on her right now. After Alucard's stunt at the Tower and the hospital, God only knew how she was supposed to make amends. Still, the prospect of being thrown into a mildewed cell again made her want to shoot something. And the thought of being executed for crimes she never committed was enough make her blood burn.

Slowly, Integra swung her legs over the side of the futon, resting bare feet on a cold floor. It felt heavenly. Her butt was numb and her back sore. A small burning ache developed between her shoulder blades from lying still for so many hours. She twisted her head gingerly from side to side, wincing slightly when she heard her bones crack. Integra tossed the blanket off, feeling decidedly over heated. Give credit where credit is due; Seras was resourceful. Integra flexed her toes, took a deep breath and pushed herself up.

Instantly, her vision swam. Her head felt light, and nausea washed over her in waves. She closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the futon so tightly her knuckles turned white. Bent half double still, she swayed on her feet and fought the urge to fall back down. Breathing deeply, she concentrated on the pain in her side, pushing it down. Sweat beaded on her temple. Finally, she opened her eyes and straightened. Her death grip on the futon gradually loosened, and she stood on her own.

In the adjacent room, Seras eyed the packet of blood warily, as though it were a feral creature, alive and ready to jump at any moment. It wasn't really that she was averse to drinking. Not anymore. After the events at the Hellsing manor, Seras had resigned herself to the need to drink blood. Silently, she mourned the death of General Ferguson; ultimately, it was something in his murder that broke her.

The fact was, drinking blood while Walter sat calmly, not five feet away from her, was a little—awkward. Disconcerting. Repulsive. The idea felt dirty.

Alucard had returned with the blood, salvaged from the wreckage of the Hellsing manor, grinning ear to ear, red eyes sparkling behind his glasses. Seras had nearly jumped for joy. She would be the last one to admit it, but she was thirsty. And now she could not feed comfortably with Walter present.

Alucard had presumably drunk his fill before entering the office. He left nearly as soon as he'd arrived, giving no explanation as to where he was going or what he planned to do.

"But Master, someone needs to stay here with Sir Integra. We're low on medical supplies, and Walter is in no condition to go out and get them." Alucard had merely walked away, his step positively _jaunty_.

"She'll do until I get back, Seras."

That was another thing. Seras had wanted Alucard to call her by her name since he first made her. But now that he did, now that he felt she'd _earned_ that privilege, it disturbed her. It seemed to portend a responsibility and capability she still wasn't sure she possessed.

And so now, she waited until Alucard chose to return. Waited, staring at the blood intensely. She supposed she could go into the bathroom, if she had to. But eating in a bathroom was highly unconventional, not to mention somewhat _disgusting_. But then, so was the need to drink blood. Unconventional. Disgusting. She sighed. Shaking her head in defeat, Seras stood and carried the packet with her into the bathroom.

Walter said nothing. Indeed, he gave no indication that he was aware of any tension emanating from the young vampire.

Truth be told, Walter was not doing well. His physical injuries were nothing. His leg was healing nicely, and the pain rarely bothered him. It was the lack of doing something that was getting to him. Whether a soldier on the field or a humble servant to Sir Integra, Walter had never been short of duties to fulfill. Cutting down legions of undead or preparing afternoon tea, it made no difference, really. As long as he was occupied. As it was, Walter was left alone with his thoughts, his anxiety manifesting itself in his hands, which occasionally twisted together or scratched at non-existent itches. He was restless, and that usually meant something bad was going to happen. Though he supposed the worst had already occurred. He'd never seen Integra so low. He'd never seen any Hellsing so low. Even when she was hunted by her own family, Integra had pulled through, commanding her new officers, her new, eh, _inheritance_. To see her as she was now, not only physically weak but obviously despairing, set his teeth on edge. It was as though something had burned out.

His thoughts were interrupted rather rudely by Integra herself.

"Sir Integra!" He made a show of leaping to his feet. She stood in the doorway, half leaning against the wall. Her face was drawn and pale, but her eyes glittered dangerously. "Really, Sir Integra, you should be resting. I must insist that—"

"Walter, I want a newspaper. And I don't suppose these extraordinarily well equipped _offices_ come with food?" Though Integra eyed Seras' empty chair for a moment, she decided against sitting. She'd been doing that long enough. Her muscles screamed for exercise, so she settled on slowly pacing back and forth.

"Sir Integra, really you shouldn't concern yourself with anything. Seras and I have everything well underhand." Walter pleaded. Integra motioned for him to sit back down, but otherwise ignored him.

"Where is Seras? Come to that, where is Alucard?" Suspicion crossed her features, her brows furrowing, mouth tightening into a hard line. Alucard had done much recently to abuse her trust.

"Seras has just retired momentarily, to drink." A moment's heavy silence fell between them. _It's about damn time,_ Integra said to herself. Then another thought occurred to her.

"Where did she get the blood?" Integra asked, sure she wasn't going to like the answer.

"Alucard returned to the manor, Sir. He managed to salvage the blood supplies we'd already received. He arrived about an hour ago. Unfortunately, he left just as soon as he came, and I'm afraid he didn't say what he intended." Walter's calm voice failed to placate Integra. She scowled silently and continued pacing.

Integra had no idea what Alucard was about. His actions recently concerned her, however. He seemed to be on a very long leash, as though he had no need to obey her wishes. It disturbed her, this loss of power. If Alucard were free to do as he wished, that meant the bonds between her family and him were weakening.

That scared her.

"Really, Sir Integra, please rest, and regain your strength." Walter's tone was gentle now, that of a caring old friend rather than a dutiful retainer. She studied him closely now, seeing the toll recent events had taken upon him. Wrinkles were more pronounced around his eyes and mouth. Previously immaculate hair was falling around his face in lank wisps. Bags hung under his eyes.

Integra turned away, and for the first time in many years, said exactly what she felt.

"I can't, Walter." Now she did sit, carefully. "Everything has fallen. For more than a decade I relied upon this one obligation, my responsibility. It's what I live for. I would die for the Queen; it is my oath and pride. But to go down for convenience—?" She dropped her head onto the table. Walter remained silent, allowing whatever needed to be said to come out. The last time Integra confided in him like this, she was still a young girl, newly initiated into the business of killing and manipulation.

"I don't have anything to fight for, Walter." This last was said on a whisper, as though she didn't want to hear it herself. She lifted her head, her pale, proud face staring straight ahead at a spot on the wall. Her eyes, though red from exhaustion and grief, were nonetheless dry. Walter waited a moment before speaking. When he did, he spoke quietly, but firmly, his voice crisp with renewed vigor.

"Sir Integra, if I may remind you, your ancestors fulfilled their duty for centuries without titles or ranks. Indeed, until Sir Wilhelm Hellsing was knighted in 1604, many thought such slayers to be heretics or lunatics." Walter stood up, coming to stand behind Integra. She sat very straight in her chair, her face devoid of emotion. Walter rested one hand on her shoulder. "You may not be a Knight anymore, Integra, but you are still a Hellsing." Walter left her with that. Walking slowly, he made his way out of the room to look for Seras. She was taking an inordinately long time to feed. He turned at the door to face Integra. She sat very still in her seat, hands placed carefully together on the table.

"I'll have Seras fetch you that newspaper, Sir. And food." He made a short, respectful bow and turned to leave.

"Walter, wait." He turned around.

"Yes, Sir Integra?" She was quiet for a moment, thinking.

"Add a pack of Players to the shopping list." She offered him a ghost of a smile, which he returned.

"Of course, Sir." The game was afoot.

**Sir** Geoff Henley took his tea at the same time every morning. A lot of cream, no sugar. Biscuits smothered in butter and orange marmalade. This morning was no different. He sat quietly at his desk, alone with his thoughts. There were a number of new, very ugly incidents in the Whitechapel district. Seven young women were murdered most viciously in their homes. Vampires had attacked them, draining their bodies of every fluid. Dried husks lay on the floors instead of normal corpses. There was barely any blood splatter on the floor or walls. These weren't the messy, cultish murders such as were in Cambridge, or indeed as he'd ever seen before. The women were food, plain and simple. And once used, were discarded. Sir Henley didn't know what disturbed him more, the thought that the Millennium organization was behind these murders, or that perhaps it wasn't.

Sir Henley rubbed his temples and took another sip of tea. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he lit one of the three he allowed himself everyday.

Since Sir Hellsing's incarceration, Sir Henley's meager organization was forced to pick up the slack, picking up where Hellsing had left off. He loathed that woman, hated her every breath, disgusted to know she had escaped and was alive somewhere. However, even more than his hatred of Integra, burned his abhorrence to admitting that she was suited for the job. Hellsing had been a powerful force against vampires in the UK. Now that she was gone from the business, Sir Henley was facing the uncomfortable responsibility of doing work he was never trained to do. His organization dealt with human terrorists, not inhuman demons.

The door opened and a servant walked in quietly. He laid a small envelope on Sir Henley's desk without a word and retreated as quietly as he came. Sir Henley liked his servants to be as quiet as humanly possible. No knocking was allowed, as it drew attention to their presence.

Sir Henley lifted the envelope and examined it closely. It'd already been screened for explosives or toxic substances. However, the letter was odd. There was no return address and the envelope was simply marked with his name only. Curious, he slit it open.

On a folded sheet of expensive stationary was a simple drawing, but one he knew very well by now. It was an eye, almond shaped with the outside edges drawn past the outline of the eye, curving upwards. It looked almost Egyptian. What was more, it appeared to have been drawn in blood. Sir Henley dropped the letter and pushed his chair out, calling for a servant.

**Just** north of London, in Bedford, Sir Richard Edwards regarded his own mail with distaste.

"James, ring Sir Islands. I am requesting a conference." The servant bowed.

"Yes, Sir. Shall I have your bags packed, Sir?" Sir Edwards nodded, distracted. He thought this business with that petty Millennium group had ended. Yet now he stared at the eerily familiar symbol with disgust. Why now, of all times? Why now when they'd lost two members? Two very powerful members.

His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yes, Sir Wright, I am aware of that. I just received one myself." Sir Edwards paused to light a cigarette, frowning momentarily at a small spider on his impeccably clean blue walls. "Yes, I already informed Sir Islands, and I've requested a conference." He hung up the phone and stared into the empty space in front of his desk, smoke welling up before him.

**Seras** walked home slowly, her arms laden with paper bags full of food, bandages and cigarettes, amongst other necessities. Long sleeves, gloves and a cap covered her skin, protecting it from the sun. Integra had decided that since they were already wanted criminals, there wouldn't be any harm using the Hellsing credit cards; the authorities knew Integra wasn't likely to have left the city, if indeed she was still alive.

"I just hope they haven't frozen the account." Integra had muttered quietly. _They_ hung in the air ominously, and Seras had assumed she meant the Round Table.

She would never admit it, as it sounded silly and immature, but she thought it was funny that the big, dark and looming Hellsing Organization used credit cards. It somehow seemed so incongruous, to have such a powerful organization that dealt in killing the supernatural undead make use of something so mundane as a credit card.

Seras shook her head, mentally chiding herself for her stupidity.

"Seras Victoria, sometimes you can be a real prat."

She surveyed the contents of the bags, feeling quite happier than she had in a few weeks. For so long, she'd been a fugitive, homeless, friendless, jobless, though there were many who'd say working for the Hellsing Organization was hardly one's ideal job. And Seras was still a fugitive. But Alucard and Walter were back. And Heaven help her, Seras was grateful that Integra was alive and well. She knew it was foolish, but somehow, things didn't seem as bad as they were a few weeks ago.

Her reverie was interrupted by a sharp noise on her left. Seras had decided to take a round about way home, just in case someone decided to follow her. She felt no fear for herself, of course. It was more than clear that she could handle most of London's gutter rats and general riffraff, but she didn't want anyone discovering where Integra was hiding.

Seras didn't look around or tense. She kept walking as though nothing were wrong. She turned right down an alley that was still dark despite the morning rays. Garbage and unspeakable refuse littered the ground, so that there was barely an inch of brick visible. The walls were caked in grime and dripped God only knew what. Seras continued walking until she heard footsteps not twenty feet behind her.

Calmly Seras set her groceries down, praying nothing would soak through the bags, and turned around.

A young man watched her quietly, his skin quite white and his clothes tailored to perfection. Malicious red eyes blinked at her underneath a cap of glossy black hair, pulled back into a short pony tail. He wore a white t-shirt over immaculate black trousers. On his shirt was an eye, a symbol with which Seras had become quite familiar.

She tired of the stony silence, his simple, but malevolent gaze. She waited for him to do something, but all he did was stand and stare at her.

"You know, you should be more careful, walking down these kinds of streets in such lovely clothes." Seras told him. Suddenly, his jaw opened hugely, inhumanly wide, displaying rows of sharp teeth that were coated in blood and bits of flesh. He let loose a disgusting noise that resembled an amplified dying pig and charged her. To Seras' relief, frightening as he was, the vampire was not that quick. Well, faster than a human, certainly, but Seras was no longer human. She remembered that belatedly as she reached for a non-existent gun. Just as he reached out to swipe at her face with overly long and sharpened nails, Seras dodged and swung her leg out to send him flying into the side of a wall.

He slid to the ground and, for a moment, lay in a heap. Seras looked around for a weapon of some sort, anything to beat his head in or run through his heart, but saw nothing but rotting food and old soup tins. Soup tins.

He roared at her again and pushed himself up. Seras dove under him as he grasped at her, rolling and trying not to think about what exactly she was wallowing in. She grabbed the nearest tin can and squeezed it into a thin stiletto-like spear. She knelt on one knee, still, waiting for him to charge her again. Her head was down, her eyes hidden behind her hair.

She felt rather than heard his approach. Seras steeled herself, waiting for just the right moment. When he was fully in front of her, ready to pounce, she leapt up and shoved the tin into his head. He screeched and fell back, stumbling through the muck and, much to Seras' amusement, slipped backward on a banana peel. On the ground he writhed for less than a minute before what remained of his head exploded into worms.

Seras hastily looked around, relieved to see that no one had decided to be curious about the scuffle. Typical of London's eastern boroughs, she thought mildly. She stood for a moment, contemplating what she'd just done, feeling rather proud of herself. Not a minute later, however, four men and a woman rushed into the alley, running at breakneck speed. They all halted suddenly upon seeing Seras and the maggoty corpse.

One of the men, with the reddest hair Seras had ever seen outside of a Disney movie, walked forward slowly and warily. His eyes darted from the dead vampire to Seras and back again.

"Young woman, did you—? How did—?" He asked quietly, apparently at a loss. Seras didn't know who these people were, but she kept on her guard for another attack. The man threw his head back to his cohorts.

"Daniel, go keep watch. Don't let anybody enter this alley." Daniel thrust an evil looking dagger into its sheath and slipped it through his belt loop. Before he left, Seras noted the small, oddly shaped designs around the black lacquered hilt, though she had no idea what they were. She turned her attention back to red.

"You have our congratulations, my dear. You've quite a talent." He bent over the corpse and didn't even grimace at the wriggling maggots still erupting out of the vampire's neck.

"Talent? What the fuck, Jules! Buffy just destroyed our suspect! Now how the hell are we gonna to question him?" The woman stepped forward angrily, eyeing Seras with poorly disguised anger.

"Calm down, Liz. Gods know there will be others." He looked at Seras again, sharp brown eyes considering, but for what? "She just did us a favor."

Seras didn't know what the hell was going on, but she felt she'd lingered here too long.

"Well, I wouldn't worry about questioning him." Seras said sheepishly. "He's a vampire, so I'm sure he's done whatever you suspect him of doing." Liz's only reply was to snort ungracefully. Jules stood up, had a good look at Seras and promptly backed away. He seemed to have noticed her eyes finally, with their unnatural shade of blood red.

"She's a vampire!" He told the others swiftly, and they all drew out weapons similar to Daniel's. Long, curved, wicked looking daggers, the like of which Seras had never seen. All at once, they rushed Seras, and she barely had time to think before they were upon her. She told herself she could not kill them, they weren't vampires, only humans, stupid as they were. Only moments before, they were admiring her for her handiwork; now they were her enemies. She lunged and spun, her boot catching Jules soundly in his hip, sending him onto his back with a painful sounding thump. Ducking Liz's lethal swipe, Seras thrust her hand out and hit the woman square in the sternum. Liz spit out blood and air in a hacking cough and fell to her knees. The others fell just as quickly. Seras didn't wait for them to get up. She grabbed her groceries and ran.

Daniel was still waiting just at the entrance of the alley, studiously ignoring the commotion inside, looking, for lack of a better term, like the mafia hit man Likely, he thought his friends were engaging in yet another, simple operation against a vampire.

"You're not too bright, are you?" Seras flung back at him as she ran.

**Walter** carefully rubbed the ends of Integra's previously white shirt together in a vain attempt to remove the blood stains.

"Sir Integra, I'm afraid there is no hope for this garment. The blood simply won't come out." He frowned down at it, positively affronted by the mess.

Integra lay on the futon again, resting. The pain that had since subsided returned, much to Integra's irritation. But Walter refused to allow her to move for more than what was necessary. Now she had to deal with a mere sheet wrapped around her slender frame.

"Leave it, Walter." Integra said quietly. He sighed, wrung the shirt out and hung it up to dry.

Seras chose that moment to trudge through the door. She closed it behind her and leaned against the frame. Walter immediately came to her side.

"What on earth happened, Miss Victoria?" He eyed her liberally streaked clothing with distaste. "You look as though you've been digging through the refuse cans." He made a face as a soft breeze blew past her through one of the windows. She certainly smelled of it, too.

"Walter. Sir Integra." Seras nodded to each of them. "Where's Alucard?"

"He dislikes the daytime hours." Integra spoke softly. Once again, Seras was reminded of how well Integra knew her servant. Her mind flashed back, briefly, to a warm night not too long ago; a night of bloody dreams and a discovery Seras would rather she hadn't made.

Seras set the bags in Walter's arms, though she noticed he grimaced slightly before accepting them. As Walter inspected the contents, Seras sat down to tell them what had happened. Integra listened quietly, smoking as Seras spoke. When Seras finished, Integra exhaled her last cigarette and crushed it out in a paper plate.

"You said the vampire you killed displayed the eye emblem used by the Millennium Group?" Seras nodded. Integra's face darkened. After a moment, she lit another cigarette, her third. "It would seem I have made yet another mistake." Integra said, almost to herself and blew cigarette smoke through her nose.

"Sir Integra—?" Walter began. She shook her head silently.

"It doesn't sound as though the other group who attacked you was specifically searching for us. They didn't attack until they discovered you weren't human." Integra mused. She ashed her cigarette again, quiet for a moment. "Walter, are there any other known organizations that deal with the undead here in London?" She asked him. Walter was startled.

"No, Sir. None that I am aware of. Unless of course, one counts the occasional trespassing of the Iscariot Organization." He replied. Integra nodded. The thought of Maxwell and Father Anderson made her mood sink further. Damn! If only she had her intelligence operatives at her disposal still. Not to mention a computer.

"In any case, whether or not they were targeting us in particular, we cannot stay here indefinitely." Integra continued. She propped her chin on her hand and chewed the inside of her lip, a habit left over from childhood. "Tonight, I will think on what to do. I believe I may know someone who would be willing to help."

Seras let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and nodded. Clapping her hands together, she stood up and began to dig through the paper bags.

"I know you gave me a list, Walter, but I also decided to pick up a few other essentials." She pulled out toothbrushes, toothpaste and other toiletries. She also pulled out a smaller paper bag containing a box of tampons. Integra saw her take them and the other toiletries into the bathroom and barely suppressed a smile. She closed her eyes and decided to find what sleep she could before the night came. Once Alucard made an appearance, she planned to go out.

**Jules** paced the floor in frustration. Or rather, he tried to pace, but was having a rather difficult time at it due to a very painful hip. He swore inwardly at the vampire from that morning. She was strange. He'd never before seen a vampire with such intelligence. If they weren't ghouls, then the others seemed simply hell bent on blood.

Speaking of which, he couldn't understand why the vampire left him and his friends alive. That was another thing uncommon. Damned near impossible, if one had asked him before that morning. And more than that, why would she kill one of her own kind? He shook his head in defeat.

"What's our next target?" He asked no one in particular. He needed to move. Do something. The morning's dismal failure still burned, and he needed to get it out of his system. Liz handed him a small Polaroid. The image of an older gentleman with balding spots stared back at him.

"It was taken the day before yesterday, in the Whitechapel area." Liz explained. Jules studied the photo for a moment.

"This is near where we were this morning." He noted. It brought the bitter taste back to his tongue.

"Any news of Miss 'Ellsing?" Niall asked quietly. He flipped through a paper from that morning, having gone through every single newspaper he could get his hands on, eyes tuned to unnatural events and possible mentions of the fugitive knight. Jules shook his head.

"None. But it isn't likely the Round Table would want to advertise her existence, let alone her disappearance, Niall." He murmured, distracted.

"She's likely dead, then. Or soon to be dead. She hasn't got many friends here, I'd say. I'm sure MI-5's got many a man out on 'er 'ead." Niall remarked. Personally, he didn't see any reason to recruit the late Sir Hellsing. Jules apparently had a purpose in mind, though he had yet to share it with the other members. For the past four days, ever since news of her escape leaked out, Jules had been quite excited that she should be brought into the organization.

"Yes, well… Perhaps we should offer our friendship, Niall." He looked up from the photograph, watching through the second story window as people hurried about their normal, ignorant lives below. "I'm sure Miss Hellsing would find it quite difficult to refuse any aid we might have to offer her." He laid the photo on a small table and left the room.

Liz watched him go, sullenly. Her dark eyes were hidden under pounds of purple eye shadow and black liner. Black hair was pulled back into a long, loose braid. She and Niall exchanged nervous glances.

"This isn't a good idea." She spoke quietly. Niall didn't answer, but continued to thumb through the papers.

**Night** arrived all too quickly for Integra. Eager as she was to evaluate her situation and—God-willing—better it, she was loath to move about so much this soon. But it had to be done. Liam Kellet would not speak to anyone else but Integra, if indeed he chose to speak with her at all.

Seras loaned Integra her shirt. She was not accustomed to wearing clothes not her own, but the difference in bust size more than compensated for the lack of fabric elsewhere. She straightened the small silver cross at her throat, took a few deep breaths, and stood ramrod straight. Thus clean and newly bandaged, Integra met Alucard leaning against the wall as she came out of the bathroom.

"Let's go." She said.

**The** bus ride into Whitechapel took a little under 15 minutes, but by the time they alighted, Integra felt her insides churning with the stress of standing up and sitting down, moving for passengers. Sweat beaded at her brow, and they had to move slowly. Alucard observed the throng in silence, ignoring the wary stares and several snickers from various teens. He did so love to be intimidating, Integra thought. Tonight, he was positively chirpy, so excited he was at the thought of possible violence. Though Integra had warned him he was only present for her protection, he was still thrilled to be on the prowl again, as it were. His gloved hands flexed in his pockets, anticipating holding his beloved guns again.

Now they walked quietly down the darkening streets, a lovely young woman with extraordinary blonde hair surreptitiously avoiding looking at her tall, dark companion, dressed for a masquerade; though Alucard had thankfully dispensed with the hat for the time being.

On the way, Alucard informed her of the conversation he'd witnessed the night before. Integra smirked.

"I know it is entirely inappropriate, but the fact that the Traitor was a mere whipping dog for the Millennium group greatly amuses me." She said lowly. They were walking rather slowly. Alucard didn't really mind, despite his eagerness to do battle with someone, anyone. He loved the city at night, the colors, the smell of thousands of young bodies, young blood. In fact, he'd spent much of last night roaming the streets, enjoying himself.

"I thought that might entertain you."

They continued the short walk around the block, coming finally to a small, nondescript brick building. Its filthy windows were darkened, no light emanating from inside. The door was a putrid yellow, the paint chipped generously and the hinges liberally speckled with rust. By the time Alucard and Integra stood on the threshold, she was slightly panting. Alucard gripped her arm lightly at the elbow. She stood still for a moment, catching her breath, and then straightened. Before she could knock, the door opened to reveal a small child. Hardly missing a beat, Integra addressed him.

"I am Integra Hellsing. I wish to speak with your master." Integra spoke quietly but firmly. The child looked to be no older than seven; when he smiled, tiny, razor sharp canines flashed against the light of the street lamp. He held the door for them and bowed slightly, mockingly. Dark eyes followed them into the hall.

Alucard could barely contain his disgust. The creature reeked of old blood and human filth. Clean though the child vampire appeared, it nonetheless emanated waste and ignorance not found in true undead.

Miniature and innocent looking fingers reached up to clasp Integra's wrist, but faltered at Alucard's low, feral growl. The child hissed slightly through its teeth, realizing who—and what—Alucard was. Clearly, the creature was a child by vampire standards, as well, Alucard thought.

Integra ignored the exchange and followed the dim glow of a fire to a small room in the back of the house. Alucard followed at her heels, boots silent on the ancient wooden floor.

Once inside, the child moved past Integra and Alucard to an overstuffed chair beside the fire. Seated there was a gaunt and silvered man, hunched over, gnarled white hands placed gently on the armrests. His nails were so long, they began to curl. His jaw was slack, hanging open slightly, where spittle began to run down the corners of his mouth. His skin had the consistency of chalk. Integra was certain that if she ran her finger over his face, bits of his skin would flake off under her touch.

The child climbed slowly on to the old man's lap. Twisted, ancient fingers moved to enclose the child gently around the waist. Integra waited in silence for him to acknowledge her presence. Alucard eyed the man, thinly disguised malice flowing off him in waves. Yes, Alucard definitely knew who this individual was, and briefly considered going against Integra's orders. During the time when Integra's father ruled Hellsing, he'd allowed this creature to live, on much the same principles as he did Alucard. Liam Kellet was a mole, and he had contacts everywhere in the city, indeed throughout the country. Though Integra had use of him in the past, Alucard wanted the disgusting son of a bitch dead.

At last, after much show of resettling himself, the old man looked up to see his visitors. Tiny, beady red eyes observed icy blue ones unblinkingly. Despite his withered appearance, the vampire's eyes spoke volumes of ancient intelligence and cunning. A smile curved very slightly upward.

"Integra Wingates Hellsing." He pronounced her name with distaste. His voice dripped with sarcasm, and rang sharply in her ears. He licked his lips, tongue darting out obscenely. "I can well imagine the reason for your visit, my love." He finally directed a hate filled gaze to Alucard. "Though, I confess I had thought you might rise above your father. Really, love, why consort with filth?" Alucard grinned enormously, reaching into his duster. Integra rested a hand on his arm, and he reluctantly quieted, grudgingly releasing his hold on the Casull.

"Since you already understand the situation, there is no reason to prevaricate, Liam." Integra began. She gestured toward an empty seat, to which Liam inclined his head. "I and several of my people need protection in the city. It is my belief that the Millennium Organization has resurfaced here in London."

"And you intend to fight them, if they have?" Liam's eyes crinkled in merriment. "You and what army, little girl? You've nothing, you're not even a knight anymore, though fat lot that did your family." He absently caressed the child's skin as he laughed, apparently truly amused. Integra was not. Before she could reply, Alucard moved behind her chair, resting his hands on the back of it lightly.

"I am all the army she needs." Alucard purred. Liam's previously slack skinned face twisted into one of revulsion, his lips puckered up, eyes roaming up and down Alucard's figure. The child mimicked his master with a sneer of his own.

"Yes, Alucard, I am well aware of your insanity. The mad ex-lord, trained to obliterate his own kind, led on a leash like a dog by a—a, little girl who likes to play with her daddy's costumes!" Liam spat out.

Alucard was upon him in an instant, the force of his lunge knocking the chair over onto its back. The child fell off and scrambled away to hide in a corner, cowering silently and curled into a fetal position. Alucard bent and gripped Liam's throat in his right hand, lifting him up toward the ceiling.

"Do you want to see a dog, Liam? I have one right here with me if you want to play!" Alucard extended his left arm, out of which erupted an enormous shadowy figure with eight blinking red eyes. Its black body, or essence as it were, seemed to flow from Alucard's own. Within its shadows, its gleaming white teeth seemed solid enough as they snapped at Liam's legs, just close enough to draw blood.

"That's enough." Integra commanded quietly. She hadn't moved except to light a cigarette, but rather watched the altercation disinterestedly. Alucard held Liam in his grasp for a few seconds more, relishing the feel of bones threatening to snap, smelling the vampire's fear, listening with glee to the choking gurgles. He squeezed once more, digging his gloved fingers into the flesh of Liam's neck, before opening his hand and letting the vampire fall to the floor in a heap. Instantly, the child scurried over to assist his master, lifting him and chair up with unnatural strength. By the time Liam and his chair were righted again, and he sat quietly, resentfully massaging his throat, Alucard had returned to his place behind Integra. The child once again climbed into Liam's lap, tucking his head underneath the elder's chin.

"You've been allowed to live by the good graces of my father. That is the only reason I haven't hunted you." Integra said. "As you can see, however," she indicated Alucard, "I am not above dispensing with Father's ideas now and then."

"I will not help you, Integra." Liam rasped. "Since you've been gone, there has been enormous pressure upon all vampires to draw together." He coughed, a loud racking affair. "How would it look, if I were to be seen aiding London's greatest vampire hunter?" Again, he eyed Alucard with repugnance.

"I didn't ever expect such a compliment from one such as you, Liam." Integra said coldly. "Do you mean that there is a cabal forming within London?" She asked him. He said nothing. He didn't have to. Integra felt certain that whoever was urging the vampires to convene was the Millennium group.

"I understand your meaning perfectly, Liam. Good evening." Integra stood slowly, and started to leave.

"Wait." Liam nodded to the child, who retrieved a small envelope from a nearby table and held it out to Integra. It was addressed quite simply to her. She frowned at it, and looked up questioningly. Liam was smiling, a hideous parody of a grin, wide lips stretching obscenely across his teeth.

She opened the envelope carefully, and pulled out the letter. She stared at it for a minute before registering exactly what she was seeing. It was an eye, the common Egyptian monograph employed by the Millennium organization, inscribed in what looked very much like blood. Nothing else was written on the letter. Alucard took it from her and erupted in long peals of laughter. Annoyed and frustrated with the night's events, Integra snatched it back.

"What's so damn funny about this?" She demanded of him. She turned to Liam, who's formerly self-satisfied countenance now seemed slightly unsure. "What is this? Who gave this to you?" Again, she turned to Alucard for some explanation. His answer was succinct and cryptic.

"It's pomegranate juice."

**AN**: Okay, I know that ended rather oddly, but I found that I simply could not write action right now. And I really wanted to get this posted. So the next scenes I intended for this chapter will be coming….soon. On another note, for those of you racking your brains for the connection between the title of my fic and the story itself, I shall now put an end to your suffering……..There is no connection. Yeah, when I first began the fic, I'd intended to focus primarily on Alucard: hence the title. But, I got distracted by my many and varied mythology books. So, "Pan's New Flute" has nothing to do with **Pan's New Flute**. And finally, because I know long ANs are annoying, I know a lot happens in this chapter and things seem to jump quickly from one thing to another. A lot more will be explained in the next chapter, and Alucard will have a lot of jolly good bloody fun. He doesn't get much action in this one, does he? Anyway, that's all I got. Enjoy.


	5. On the Inability of Man to Sit Still

I don't own Hellsing—duh.

Pan's New Flute 

Chapter Five: On the Inability of Man to Sit Still in a Room

"Pomegranates?" Integra asked incredulously. She looked accusingly to Liam, who sat quietly, stroking his pet from shoulder to hip, fingers lingering here and there. He smiled slowly, his rotting teeth exposed, but said nothing.

"Highly concentrated grenadine, actually." Alucard murmured, still grinning. Integra shot him a disgusted look.

"Who gave this to you, Liam? I demand to know who delivered this!" Before he could answer, the air in the room shifted, thickening, and filling her nostrils with a vile stench of rot. Alucard pushed the letter into her hands and began to laugh.

"We've got company." He said, and suddenly Integra found herself wrapped in an inky blackness, covering her completely. Everything solid dropped out from under her feet, and it felt as though she were hanging in mid-air. It was as though a black sheet had been thrown over her body. She could not see or hear anything, felt nothing but soft, liquid coolness where the barrier brushed against her.

"Alucard!" She shouted. She tried to push through his magic, but found herself trapped. "Alucard! Release me immediately!"

Inside the room, four vampires stood smirking in the doorway. They eyed Alucard with relish, eager to begin the battle. Liam sat up in the chair, alert and quite intent upon the arrivals.

"The Hellsing is somewhere in this room. Alucard has merely hidden her!" He told them. Alucard began to laugh, and flexed his fingers, ready and willing, anxious even, to fight.

"Come to play, have you? That's good! I've been eager for a challenge, or at the very least, _something_ to do!" Alucard shouted with glee.

They rushed him all at once, long shadows whipping out of their bodies to strike Alucard. Laughing, he dodged them, moving up and down, left, right, angles that defied physics. Finally, he fell back and into a crouch.

"Oh come on! Hurt me! HURT ME! Where are your skills? Your minions, or at the least any _human_ weapons?"

Snarling, they circled him, each one drawing a gun, all pointed directly at his head. Just as the collective pulling of triggers sounded, Alucard's body fell to the floor in a lump of red and black clothing. He'd disappeared. The vampires began to fire wildly into the room. Liam screeched, and his pet whined in fear. Liam moved with unexpected speed behind his chair, clutching the child in front of him like a shield.

Alucard's disembodied voice echoed throughout the room, pushing through the gunshots and whimpers.

"You'll have to do better than that!" A single white arm shot out of nowhere and thrust itself through the chest of one vampire. He shrieked, a loud and ungodly affair, before exploding into dust. The remaining three turned fast as lightening, shooting the arm till it lay on the floor in a mass of blood and writhing maggots. All was quiet for 3.5 seconds.

The room darkened considerably. Not the darkness of dimming light, but the utter black nothingness of Alucard's shadows encasing the room till it became a black box. The air thickened and turned to rot. Blood red eyes blinked from every wall, from the floor and the ceiling. A red mist seemed to rise from the ground, swirling quietly around the room, circling the vampires, caressingly, lovingly. Suddenly, the floor seemed to cave in on itself, as the vampires looked on in bewilderment. They leaped away just as a giant hole fell through the middle of the floor, out of which formed the head of a hound, if one could call it that. Five gasps and several cries dropped in the room. The sound was dead, though. As though something tangible was in the air, swallowing up all sound and light.

The beast trained six pairs of beady red eyes on the vampires. They all jumped back, away from the monster. But, finding nowhere to hide, all they could do was huddle together and shoot uselessly into the beast. It growled loudly, viciously, then opened its mouth. The thing was so hideous, one of the vampires screamed.

Hundreds of tiny white daggers lined the edge of the beast's gaping maw. More eyes blinked from within the hound's mouth. Bloody saliva dripped from the corners, and its black tongue lolled in anticipation of its meal. It leaped out of the hole, its body seemingly made of the shadows that covered the room so completely, pulling them with its head like a sheet. It advanced upon the vampires, ignoring the screeching and bullets. In one quick motion, the beast caught two of the three in its mouth and began to chew. Bones crunched against its teeth, blood dripped around its mouth, falling to the black floor in red pools. Flesh hung from its jaws in tangled pieces. The hound spit the remainder of the bodies out, onto the floor, to lay in a pile of rent and ground flesh, blood and maggots.

The shadows were pulled inwards, toward the hound, which sank toward the floor into nothingness. Darkness fell off the walls and ceiling like water, returning the room to its normal colors and proportions. When the last remaining vampire could dare to look around, all he saw was Alucard standing in the middle of the carnage, grinning, eyes opened inhumanly wide, making him look utterly mad.

A pile of scattering dust and chewed up flesh was all that remained of the vampire's companions. He backed away, his intention only to flee. His master would not like this. Before he could run, before he could even move one leg, Alucard had him by the throat. His legs dangled uselessly, kicking Alucard's knees. Long black tentacles shot out of his body and into Alucard, piercing his chest and neck. Alucard paid them no mind. The struggling vampire grasped Alucard's wrist fiercely, digging in with overly long nails as Alucard gave the same attention to his neck. Hissing and scratching, panic settled in when he realized that Alucard really did not care about his struggles. Alucard stared up at him coldly.

"Who do you work for?" He squeezed harder, for good measure, his fingers embedded in its neck. The vampire choked, but laughed, the sound coming out strangled and gurgled.

"She's—she's," he choked again, blood spilling out of his mouth and through the holes in his neck, his fingers still clawing at Alucard's hands. "She's…". Shaking his head, his eyes took on an insane gleam. "_Let thine Eye go forth against those who are rebels in the kingdom_." He whispered harshly, his blood dripping out of him, turning speech into a guttural gasp. He grinned, to which Alucard sneered and flicked his wrist. Before the vampire could blink again, his head lay on the floor beside his body.

Alucard turned his attention toward Liam next, who still cowered behind the furniture, uselessly holding his pet vampire child in front of him. Alucard opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by loud and heavy footfalls in the hallway outside. He turned around, peeved at more arrivals but still ready to do battle. The first four weren't so much fun, dying so quickly as they did. Alucard was quite surprised, however, to find that the newcomers were not the undead but humans. All the more reason for him to be irritated; he wanted to question and then kill Liam without any interruptions or complications.

Jules had flown ahead of the others into the darkened old house. Still bruised about the ego from that morning's encounter, he wanted to be sure they bagged this target. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw the mess on the floor, their crouching, terrified target and the outlandishly clad vampire standing over him. His gun, drawn and ready, went ignored as Jules took in the scene. Behind him, Liz and Niall had also their weapons ready. Recovered, ignoring the unspeakable filth on the floor, Jules took aim and fired at the unknown vampire, injuring him not at all. Liz and Niall added their own weapons to the fight. The bullets disappeared inside Alucard's body, the entry holes pulling themselves together.

Alucard laughed and reached into his coat for the Casull. It was out and aimed at the newcomers before they could blink.

"Think carefully on what you are going to do next." Alucard said softly, red eyes trained intensely on the humans. "As you can see, I'm rather busy right now." He could feel their hearts beating, quickly and erratically. Their veins glowed a lovely dim red through the skin. A faint _pounding_ in his mind buzzed like an annoying insect. He ignored it. Alucard felt his fangs elongate; he could almost taste their blood on his tongue. He wanted them, not desperately, as one starved. But as one who knew he could take and take, never being denied.

"_Alucard!" Integra screamed as loud as she could, scratching desperately at his shadows that enveloped her. She was the itch on his mind. _

_"A moment longer, master." Alucard murmured in her mind. Briefly, Integra felt the ghost of a touch against her neck, and then his voice and thoughts left hers._

Alucard made a quick drawing motion with his fingers, and the hunters' guns flew from their hands to land at Alucard's feet.

Integra felt the barrier dissolve around her and drip to the floor like liquid running down her body. She stood in the middle of the room that was now liberally decorated with blood and pieces of flesh. Time enough later to have a full report. She realized that had Alucard not protected her, even against her wishes, she might well have been caught in the melee. Grudgingly, she nodded to him.

"I'll deal with you in a moment." Integra said darkly to the human hunters. Jules narrowed his eyes in affront. _How dare she speak thusly to him? Who did she think she was?_ He refrained from commenting just yet, though, watching in fascination as Integra practically tore the room apart. "Where are you, you miserable sack of shit?" Integra growled. Liam had disappeared.

Behind one of the upturned ottomans, the child huddled, covering its head and squeezing its eyes closed tightly. Integra looked down in disgust at the quivering vampire. Ignoring her injury, she bent and lifted the child up by the collar, glaring down at it. She was furious.

"It would seem your master has abandoned you." Integra's voice was deceptively soft. Inside, she was raging against Liam's trickery. "As he is gone, it would appear that you are all that is left to give me answers." A breath. Small, blood-tinged tears fell down the child's cheeks. "Now." Integra commanded. "Or shall I give you to Alucard?" The child shook its head frantically, trying to escape from Integra's hold. Movement behind her caused the small vampire to twist and squeal in fury and terror. Alucard stood at Integra's shoulder, grinning down in delighted anticipation.

"Give him to me, my master. He knows nothing, obviously." Alucard purred silkily. "Why waste him?" The vampire's eyes opened wide, and his struggles renewed. Integra held fast, her face blank, contemplating the suggestion. For the moment, the baffled humans were forgotten. Integra thrust the vampire into Alucard's eagerly awaiting arms and turned just in time to hear it screech at the top of its lungs.

"No! Wait! I don't know much, but I'll tell you what I can!" Alucard growled in disappointment.

"Start talking." Alucard snarled viciously.

"Th-the letter came early yesterday. I don't know who brought—" He was cut off by Alucard grasping his head and digging his fingers in.

"They were wearing th-the s-same," his eyes blinked at the blood running down his face. Alucard loosened his death grip on the vampire's head.

"Continue." Integra murmured calmly.

"They were wearing the same eye emblem. The one that was in your—your letter!" His voice sounded pitifully small, which only angered Integra further.

"That tells me nothing! I want to know about the Millennium Group."

Jules flinched at the name. How did she know about the organization? His eyes flickered from Alucard to the blonde woman and back. Could she be the notorious leader of the Hellsing organization? His information on Sir Integra Hellsing was sadly very little, as the group kept quite a tight lid on their operations, members, indeed even on their very existence. He'd hoped very much that Sir Hellsing would still be alive after the events that brought the organization down. He watched her as she interrogated the small vampire.

"I don't know what the Millennium Group is, but they told Master to detain you, that it would be worth his while if you were captured alive." The child said.

"How did they know I would come here tonight?" Integra asked, unnerved by the thought of this group knowing her moves. When no answer was forthcoming, Alucard pushed his fingers into the vampire's skull, breaking through bone and brain. Gasping and screaming, the child stopped kicking and hung limply from Alucard's outstretched hand. Quietly, so softly Integra could barely hear him, he whispered.

"Sekhet—Nes-" He paused, closed his eyes as blood flowed from his ears, eyes, nose and mouth. "Nesert." The last was a sigh as he died. His body disintegrated into ashes as Integra watched, calm and cold. Alucard looked at the gore on his gloves and in a quick movement flicked them off, flexing bare fingers.

"I'm getting tired of cryptic messages." Alucard muttered.

"You've cost us our target." Jules spoke quietly from behind them. Integra had forgotten about the human hunters, all her attention focused on getting answers for the attack. Alucard pulled out his Casull, aiming casually at the hunters.

"Who are you?" Integra asked. "Whom do you work for?"

Jules put both hands up in a gesture of both defense and innocence. He came forward slowly, putting himself quite clearly in the line of Alucard's gun. Ignoring his distaste for the vampire, Jules began.

"I am Julian Hascross. I lead a small team of hunters against the Undead." He shrugged gracefully, flashing a small, rueful grin. "I'm sorry, I have no card to give you." Integra was not amused.

"Why have I not heard of you before?" She vowed she would take Walter to task for this lack of intelligence on the underground group. Beside her, Alucard had not moved to replace his Casull. She thought briefly that her decision to bring him was wise and fortunate. Not that he'd have stayed behind anyway.

Jules felt that addressing her as Sir Integra, as he was certain this was the one-woman leader of the infamous Hellsing, would not blow over well in light of the fact that Miss Hellsing seemed to abhor being in the dark on matters of information.

"As I said, we are small. We currently have only 56 hunters, with more than half of them working on intelligence." He looked back at his comrades, still poised to strike should the apparently tame vampire choose to attack. Jules himself did not feel at all easy being so close to one of the Undead. He was resigned to kill it before too long. "Our numbers have greatly decreased, with many deaths from the recent artificial vampire attacks." His eyes took on an interested gleam. "As a fellow hunter, you would be well aware of what I speak?" It sounded like a question, but Integra followed his meaning quite clearly. Beside her, Alucard chuckled menacingly.

"Don't play the fool! You know precisely who my master is!" Alucard accused. Jules was stunned. Not because he'd found out, but because the monster was insinuating that he and the lovely Sir Integra had such a relationship. Surely one whose quest was to destroy vampires would not _willingly_ consort with such a beast? Much less keep one in her employ. But she did nothing to correct the vampire.

"I am," she paused. Integra supposed she could no longer truthfully call herself, or expect to be called "Sir". Her knighthood was stripped. That was a wound that was fresh and raw and hurt her terribly to think on. "I am Integra Hellsing, as I'm sure you know." She did not introduce Alucard, who remained faithfully at her side. She could swear she felt a soft blanket of coolness remain hovering around her form. She would have to speak to him about that. The man—vampire had become entirely too protective.

"It's a pleasure, my lady." Jules bowed in respect. "I've heard many tales of your prowess in battle against the forces of the undead." Alucard mentally rolled his eyes at the man's flowery speech. It didn't matter in the least, as Integra was the last woman on earth to be affected by such displays. And yet, Alucard watched in shock as Integra allowed a small smile to escape and inclined her head in acknowledgement of the compliment. His reaction was muffled by an even more potent sense: Hellsing blood.

Jules' gaze was drawn down, and his eyes widened.

"Miss Hellsing, you are injured!" Integra looked down to see two small spots of blood staining the crisp white shirt, and quickly shot a glance at Alucard, as though to say _stay down_. Her stitches must have torn a bit, but not too much by the looks of it. She touched her fingers to it, and they came up tinged with red.

"It's nothing. But thank you." She replied. She looked around, trying to find something to wipe her hands with. Jules immediately pulled out a handkerchief, which she took with a small smile. "Thank you."

Alucard frowned. Why was she acting so damned _obliging_ all of a sudden? And it surely was an act, for she had never behaved so in all the ten years he'd known her. Integra turned to Alucard, looking up at him expectantly.

"We are pulling out." She told him. "I'm more than ready to leave this obscene place behind." She handed the soiled kerchief back to Jules, who pocketed it.

"Wait." Jules reached for Integra's arm, then thought better of it. "You are wounded; you need a doctor. And a safe place to stay." He added. Integra remained motionless, an icy stare burning into Jules. He sighed. "You're right, I am very aware of who you are. I also have an idea what kind of trouble you are in." Integra's face hardened. Jules continued despite her. "They are searching for you. Wherever you might be staying for the moment, I can offer you safety. My organization is small, but security is tight. And it is very unknown, as you yourself understand." Jules finished. He was not about to give up; he wanted Miss Integra Hellsing working for him, for very specific reasons.

"At the moment, Mr. Hascross, I am staying here, for longer than I expected." She gestured to the mess of the room. "I thank you for your offer, and your consideration, but I assure you I am well taken care of. Good evening." With that, she and Alucard swept out of the house.

"Well that's bloody fucking excellent!" Liz exclaimed. She'd been holding her breath through the entire exchange. "First, they lose us our target. Then we lose your precious Miss Hellsing." Anger passed over her strong features. "Even if the icy bitch decides to come crawling back, she has a _vampire servant_, Jules! A vampire!"

"That can easily be taken care of." Jules said calmly. "And she will come back. I'd wager she is holding up in some dump on the outskirts of town. It won't be long till her noble pride gets in the way of survival. She'll come back. And if not," Jules paused to reload his gun, then slip the safety down. "If not, we can find her."

Always a man of many words, Niall shook his head and lit a cigarette.

….

"Obnoxious little pri—" Alucard began.

"Walk me back then follow him, Alucard." Integra ordered. "I want a full report on Mr. Hascross' so-called organization." She stopped to light a cigarette, wishing fervently she still had her cigars. Players were too bitter. "I want to know exactly what goes on in his little base, his operations and how many operatives he has currently working for him. I want to know what kind of intelligence he does have. Do not disappoint me." This last held dire threat for failure. Alucard began to laugh, hysterically, truly amused and amazed. He suddenly understood her compliance and almost flirtatious attitude with the human hunter. The bloody handkerchief would leave her scent open to his senses, creating a trail only he could follow.

"Clever." Alucard murmured.

"Hmm?" Integra glanced up at him. "Oh, yes." She resumed smoking without further comment.

"I didn't realize how proficiently you use your feminine charms, my Master." Alucard goaded. "I am well put in my place." To that, Integra let out a very un-ladylike snort.

"He thinks he knows who I am." A huff of breath, as the walk was taking its toll on Integra. "If his group is what I think it is, I intend to use him to my ends and purposes. Unfortunately, I need all the help I can get." The bravado was gone, replaced by an intense and serious demeanor. Integra did not like to admit weakness. "It is true, that we cannot remain holed up in Seras' convenient little condemned office for long."

"You should not try to handle everything right now, Integra." Alucard said, amusement still shimmering in his voice. "Even when the great and noble Hellsing Organization still existed, there was such a thing as departmental communication." Integra stopped in her tracks and exhaled violently. Smoke billowed around her face, stinging her eyes, but she ignored it. Nearly leaning into Alucard's face, her own contorted with anger, Integra verged on shouting.

"I _am_ the Hellsing Organization! And whom do you propose I leave matters of survival to? YOU? Seras?" She continued walking, the faint limp in her step apparently not hindering her enraged gait. If she could, she would stomp around the streets and hit something. Or someone. "Seras is totally inexperienced by way of contacts and instinct. Walter can only do so much. And you—" Here she paused, and it became evident that she didn't want to say what she'd intended. _You can't be trusted._ The knowledge that brought wounded Integra in ways she didn't care to contemplate. But to her consternation, and dismay, Alucard didn't respond with his normal outlandish laughter. Rather he carried on, walking beside her in silence. His eyes were masked behind his glasses, mouth set in a grim line. They walked in awkward silence to the bus, and remained so for the rest of the journey.

….

"I'm telling you, the thinner they, are the better!" Seras held up the washcloths she'd recently bought. Walter held one up to the light, inspecting it carefully, a rather pinched expression in his eyes upon seeing the thread bare quality to the fabric.

"Sir Integra is accustomed to more, _plush_ fabrics." Walter commented.

"Yes, but the thinner they are, the better they scrub!" Seras protested.

"Sir Integra doesn't _need_—" Walter began, but was interrupted by Integra's appearance at the door. "Sir Integra, welcome back." Breeding and habit made him bow formally to Integra.

"Where's Alucard?" Seras asked. She meticulously folded each washcloth and put them in a pile on the table.

"I sent him on a little errand." Integra replied and took a seat. The smell of steak and potato pies drifted under her nose. She would confess, but only to herself and Walter, of course, that pot pies had always been her favorite food, peasant though they were.

"Dinner is almost ready, Sir Integra." Walter informed her. She sat back, and prepared to share the events at Liam's residence.

"You needn't address me as 'Sir' any longer, Walter. I am no longer a knight. Miss Hellsing will do." Integra added quietly. Walter paused in the act of opening the small oven. It really was a primitive model, with only two burners.

"As you wish, Miss Hellsing."

AN: Okay, this is actually shorter than I imagined. But it was long enough, and I haven't updated in a while. I know so far things have been a bit slow, but they will pick up quite a bit in the next chapter. Thanx for reading.


	6. The Eye of Ra

Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own Hellsing.

A/N: It's been a while since I updated. You might want to re-read the previous chapter

or so.

**Pan's New Flute**

Chapter 6: The Eye of Ra

_Mine is a heart of carnelian, crimson as murder on a holy day_.

_Mine is a heart of corneal, the gnarled roots of a dogwood and the bursting of flowers_.

_I am the broken wax seal on my lover's letters_.

_I am the phoenix, the fiery sun, consuming and resuming myself_.

_I will what I will_.

_Mine is a heart of carnelian, blood red as the crest of a phoenix_.

A deep purring floated softly within the small, gilded room. Blue and gold paneling on the walls mirrored the temples of ancient Memphis, hieroglyphs painted lovingly beneath various figures solemnly marching in a procession of the dead. Amongst the static and time-imprisoned figures, a young female with the head of a lioness, appearing deceptively demure, sat behind a veil of pomegranates. Not entirely Egyptian. But the symbolism was lovely and, she felt, highly flattering. And besides, as far as gifts went, it was the thought that counted, right? The young woman could clearly imagine the thoughts behind such a beautiful mural. Fear of a fate worse than death was likely at the top of the list.

In the center of the room, a fire burned warmly, its flames licking shadows against the young woman's face. Her skin was ivory, smooth as porcelain and softer than a newborn's. Ebony hair flowed past her waist in dotingly curled ringlets. She flexed her hands gently against her knee, where she knelt on a nest of pillows and silken throws. Gold rings adorned her long, slender fingers. Never silver. She abhorred silver. Not that the element could harm her at this point, but really it was the principle of the thing. And she was all about principles. Standards to be kept. A particular image that must be maintained.

Her stark green eyes hardened as they swept past the pitiful old man shivering at her feet. For a vampire, his skin already showed surprising signs of advancing age. His chalky skin sagged and hung in lumps around his neck. Bags swung beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. His stone gray hair flopped flimsily across his white skull. Slobber dribbled from his mouth, foaming against his lips. His very existence disgusted her.

She regarded him as one who promised dire retribution for faults not his own.

"Thank you for delivering my message, Liam." She spoke softly, her words caressing him with all the gentleness of a lover's lips. Liam shook in fear and avoided her eyes.

"To be in the presence of one so mighty," Liam spoke, "and beautiful, is thanks enough, my Lady." She smiled. Flattery always amused her. She knew she was beautiful; though she couldn't see for herself, she felt it within her, knew it when she thought of herself and when she looked in the eyes of her followers and victims.

"Do go on, about how you _live_ and _bleed_ to serve me. How you adore the very ground I walk upon." She sneered. Liam made to speak, but one look silenced him.

"Tell me about her." Liam looked up at the order. His queen's eyes had taken on a faint, golden glow. "Tell me what Integra did. What did she say?"

"She, eh—" Liam tried to recall the madness of the fight. For once, he regretted his cowardice. "Her servant hid her, my Queen." Swallowing on a dry mouth, he continued. "As your followers made their presence known, Alucard hid her. I don't know how. It was as if she disappeared. Then, Alucard," Liam paused, remembering the ghastly sight. "Alucard—attacked the other vampires, and killed them. I left after that." He dared not look up at her now. He could feel her anger flowing off her body in waves. It was almost a tangible weight upon his head. He felt sick, and could hear her voice in his head, beating upon his mind.

"She disappoints me. I underestimated her dependency upon that creature." She finally said. She picked up a mirror, studying the vacant reflection intensely, as though she could somehow see her face in the glass. "But I know her strength, her beauty like my own." Her eyes widened, her mouth forming a half smile, of anticipation, longing. "She is terrible in her power; beautiful in her hatred and fear." Liam cringed, disturbed by the excited gleam in his mistress' eyes.

"Forgive me, my Lady, but are you not concerned that your servants were so easily slaughtered?" Liam asked, then instantly closed his eyes, expected the fatal blow to come at any moment. Instead, she moved, on her hands and knees to where he knelt, her breasts exposed for him to feast his eyes upon, should he be interested. She tenderly lifted his chin with one finger, her nail sliding gently against his neck. Liam whimpered helplessly. She lingered momentarily along the remaining bruises from his encounter with Alucard.

"Why do you ask?" She purred, her lips close to his, her face slowly moving down to his neck, where she buried her nose. He shook his head minutely, mouth moving mutely, terrified of her whisper touch.

"Servants are…" she sighed against his skin. "Unnecessary." She bit hard into his neck, tearing apart the muscle, skin and bone. Liam didn't scream; he couldn't. A bubbling gust of air escaped his windpipe, and he fell back against the floor. The woman sat back on her knees and wiped her mouth. As two silent eunuchs shuffled through the doors, heads bowed, eyes hiding their revulsion and fear, she cleaned herself off with one of the throws. "I lied. Without servants, _I'd_ have to clean up your mess."

……

As pleased as Alucard was about his master's preternatural ability to charm other men into doing her bidding, he was nonetheless bored and more than slightly irritated at having become an errand boy. And that was how he thought of himself at this moment. Stalking through the streets of London, following Integra's utterly enticing scent—fruitlessly, in his mind—to a man he hated, without even knowing him. Julian Hascross. A simpering fledgling in the art of hunting the undead, and Integra was soliciting his aid.

A cat's screeching in a nearby window momentarily distracted Alucard. He thought briefly, again, of consuming animal blood to satiate his desire. What a paltry substitute. The memory of fighting the vampires, and the smell of human blood—begging to be drained—swam through his mind. He had loved every minute of it. The thrill of the fight, the feel of Integra in his mind—an almost _painfully_ physical touch—and the smell of the human hunters' blood all nearly drove him mad with desire. He could feel the cold blood in his veins begin to pound and beat through his body. He wanted human blood so badly. Not the bagged, cold, _donated_ blood to be found at the Hellsing Organization. Fresh, hot, _living_ blood. Human blood. He could smell it even now in the deserted streets. Amidst the foul odor of garbage, food and human waste, he could sense the presence of another close by. Footsteps clicked softly on the pavement just around the corner. Alucard's mouth curved up into a smile.

The young man shoved his hands in his pocket, mentally raging against his girlfriend. They'd had a nasty fight, and he'd left. He just needed some fresh air. In accordance with that, he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Fuck her. Fuck her and her stupid security issues. Fuck her stupid _Fred, I know you're going on behind my back._ His pace increased in his anger. He could get any girl he wanted. And had. He'd never had any shortage of women wanting to shag him. He smiled in spite. Teach her a lesson. Maybe then she'd realize how good she had it with him. He rounded the corner and stopped abruptly.

"Oi! Who the fuck you think you are? Some sideshow freak?" The tall man standing before him was dressed outlandishly in a red trench coat and tall black boots. He didn't reply to Fred's snide comment. Simply stood still in Fred's path. "Move out of my way, fucker! I'm in no mood!"

Alucard walked toward him, slowly, giving Fred time to run away. Part of him hoped the man would run; he'd not had a chase for centuries. He felt the man's heartbeat, steadily rising. Fred's breathing was erratic, but he didn't move.

"What are you on about, man?" Fred asked, angrily, though his voice wavered. Alucard lifted his hands to gently, lovingly, clasp the back of the man's head, tilting it down to expose the smooth skin on his neck. Hands grasped Alucard's coat, simultaneously pushing and holding on. Fred's eyes were alight with fear and invitation. He didn't think about his girlfriend, or how many other women he'd slept with. He shook his head, trying to shake off the fog that had closed around his mind. Alucard bent his head to the man's neck, sniffing the blood that coursed through the human's body.

"You'll do." He sank his teeth into Fred's neck, nearly groaning in ecstasy of taking warm, human blood. Images of taking Integra in a similar fashion raced through his mind, and he felt himself harden. Cursing, Alucard threw the moaning human to the ground, having only drunk a little. Not enough to satisfy a child. He spat the blood out and walked away in disgust, leaving the man writhing on the ground.

It was a sad day for Alucard, when he could not enjoy a simple meal without thoughts of Integra ruining every bite.

……

Chief Inspector Richter was going quietly insane. Around him, his subordinates buzzed like flies. Flitting back and forth, going about mindless tasks they thought might help the situation, when in reality they had no idea what the situation was. It wasn't that Richter was worried. He simply was fed up with being pulled in two directions.

His most recent order had come from the Round Table. An organization most of England, including its military, liked to pretend didn't exist. Now a group of 10 men, Richter perceived their power to have lessened considerably. Had the gentlemen of the Round Table lost any two other members, in particular anyone besides Hellsing, they might have retained some of their glorified status. Now, their power was equivalent to the queen's: just for show. More of a tradition than anything else. No one would have the guts to take them out. Their power was a whisper that went around their subordinates, enough to keep them in line, but not enough for the Round Table to actually accomplish anything.

The order came this morning. They were apparently renewing their efforts to search for Integra and the monster she escaped with. Admittedly, Richter had little knowledge, beyond that of the Round Table itself, of the vampire Integra kept in her employ. The vampire Alucard was as much infamous for his immense power as he was for his utter mystery. His true nature was unknown to the members of the Round Table, or so Sir Perrin had informed him. Idly, Richter wondered if Sir Integra herself even fully understood her pet.

It didn't matter. Richter had orders from another. She was infinitely more powerful than the members of the Round Table, than Integra, or even Alucard himself. Richter positively glowed when he thought of her. The Lady Sekhet was a power unto herself, and he was well pleased to be in her service.

Capturing Integra would be easy enough. What to do with her was another matter entirely. Of course, the Round Table would want her re-incarcerated. That was not going to happen. His mistress had use of the woman.

"Sir, we've got an id on a doctor we believe may have administered to Sir Integra the night she escaped." Officer Shank broke through his reverie. Richter took the file from Shank and flipped through it.

"Dr. Lilian Ambrose, Meier Medical Center." Richter snorted ungracefully. "A free medical clinic." He said with distaste. "This is now high priority. Arrest the doctor on complicity. Now." Shank nodded and left immediately. Richter continued to idly thumb through the doctor's profile. He knew exactly what to do with Integra Wingates Hellsing.

……

Integra sank gratefully into the warm water, wincing as it touched her wound. It felt so good though. She could almost feel the grime and sweat—actual _dirt_—melt off of her. She closed her eyes and lay back gingerly, sinking down to her shoulders. Her hair floated around her in greasy waves. Her knees were bent double, the bathtub too tiny to accommodate her long frame. She indulged in a rare feminine sigh as she scrubbed her body hard, not once but twice. Integra thought she'd never felt anything so lovely. Emptying the tub of gray, soapy water, she refilled it, and sank down to relax.

The day's events pleased her. She knew they shouldn't, because nothing was tangibly gained. But now there was some hope of her and her sad little entourage gaining safety and perhaps carrying on with their mission. Millennium had yet to be dealt with, and she wasn't about to quit. Integra was livid. The message sent to her by the Millennium organization automatically involved her in whatever new terrorist attack they were planning. Aside from duty, Integra had a vendetta against those who would play games with her life.

Integra absently picked up her Players and lit a cigarette. It felt good to be alone for once. Since having escaped the Tower, she felt as though Alucard or Walter, even Seras, would not give her a moment's peace to stop and think. To calculate.

Integra lifted her hand, seeing the small cut on her hand. Already it was healing nicely, the clean pink line merely a memory. Or a dream. She hadn't thought much of the dream. So much had happened since. Too much to think about. But its meaning perplexed her. She didn't know whether to be frightened or excited. Some small part of her, a part she didn't want to acknowledge even existed, quickened at the memory of the woman's touch. The press of her cold lips, her voice like a soft sigh in her mind. Integra closed her eyes and remembered. Unconsciously, she slid her hand over and between her breasts, across her belly, let it rest between her legs, moving against and through the curls.

_Sharp metal sliced into her hand. Something hit her in the chest and she fell hard on her back, coughing up blood and angrily spitting it to the side. She knew she had very little time left. This was her one chance, and maybe this time, she could pull it off. Integra grasped the hilt of the unfamiliar sword and lunged. She could hear the clash of steel against steel. Her opponent countered every move she made expertly, as though the other knew her intent. As though she were fighting herself. _

Integra came up out of the water, legs splayed over the side kicking maniacally at the faucet and wall. She choked on the water and flailed about uselessly before looking around, half blind, panicked. A furious pounding on the door made her jump and stare in battle-ready anticipation.

"Miss Hellsing! Integra! Are you alright?" Walter. It was just Walter. She was in the bathroom. There was no weapon in her hand. Beside her, the cigarette floated harmlessly in the pink tinged water. Her hand was bleeding again, the cut newly opened. Integra clinched her fingers together, thrusting them into the water. A quick check to her side wound assured her that nothing had torn.

"I'm alright, Walter." Integra called out quickly. He was bound to break down the door. "I fell asleep and had a," Integra paused, looking at her hand, where blood steadily dripped into the bath. "I just had a strange dream. I'll be out momentarily." A few seconds later, reluctant footsteps retreated into the hall and further. Integra sat for a minute, allowing her breathing to calm and her mind to cool. Alucard had said he wanted to discuss the dream with her, but she really had no desire to speak to anybody about it. She felt curiously possessive; it was hers, meant for her alone. It seemed important, something she hadn't felt in a long time, since the destruction of the Hellsing Organization. It was not a pretty sentiment to admit, but though Integra was naturally concerned about the series of bizarre events—from the Millennium letter to the dream—she was also excited, anxious to be doing something, to be involved in something that required her. She couldn't understand why she felt that way, but it didn't really matter. As she told Alucard, she—Integra—is the Hellsing Organization. All that was left of it was embodied in her. She didn't mind filling the shoes.

Slowly, she stood up, bracing herself against the walls of the bath and froze when she heard gun shots down the hall.

……

"No, there are no problems, Sir." Captain Dobbs spoke confidently. He listened as the echoes of guns carried down to the street where he awaited the capture of Miss Integra Hellsing. Richter wanted this done quickly and efficiently. There was no room for mistakes. Dobbs never made mistakes. He had his sights on Richter's job someday, and getting there required his record be impeccable. A military man by nature, Dobbs had frequently been called—somewhat jokingly, yet with respect—by his underlings as the Bulldog. The name suited him. Not only was he stocky and strong, like his namesake, Dobbs never let go once he bit.

His mic beeped once and the voice of Officer Shank reported their progress.

"Sir, we've got the target in our custody. Two casualties, Sir. One civilian and one, well—" Shank hesitated. That was unacceptable.

"Shank! I want the full status. Report now."

"Yessir! Sir Integra's retainer and a young woman are dead. Sir Integra is currently in our custody. We are searching the rooms for other persons, Sir." Dobbs nodded to himself.

"Good work. You've five minutes, Shank. Out."

Dobbs smiled. It would appear that rumors of Sir Integra Hellsing's invincibility were greatly exaggerated.

Exactly 3.5 minutes later, Shank emerged from the building. Following him was a loud screeching noise, proceeded by the forced removal of Integra from her refuge. She was wrapped haphazardly in blue, blood stained towel—already falling off to reveal wounds from an earlier skirmish, Dobbs could see—her arms and legs bound, as well as her mouth gagged. This did not prevent her from fighting her captors as much as she could. Dobbs shrugged at the unorthodox arrest, but Richter had made it perfectly clear that the target was to be taken immediately and by any means necessary; and she must be alive. The others, he didn't care about. Integra was wanted by "upper management." As such, the operation was to be kept quiet and completed as quickly as possible.

"Alright, we are gone. Get her in the van; make sure she won't be a problem along the way." Dobbs ordered.

……

Hands all over her. On her thighs, against her ribs, in her hair and folded within her own fingers. Some caressing, loving even, the touch almost whisper soft and filling Integra with longing. She leaned into those hands, as though desperate for the contact. Others, hateful. Pulling at her hair, grasping her chin, a thumbnail running cruelly over her lips, breaking the delicate skin and perhaps drawing blood. Integra couldn't tell. She couldn't even tell which hands were which. Which ones might even be her own?

And then she didn't feel anything. Hearing her own breath, the thud of her heartbeat in her head, Integra knew—or hoped—that she was alive. But she felt no heat or cold, even though a moment ago, she was sure a pair of sticky, hot hands had grasped her arms quite firmly. She knew this should concern her, and perhaps on some level it did. But she found also a disconnection from whatever might be happening to her at that moment. She could see nothing, feel nothing. At any moment, Integra expected the searing flash of pain that she supposed occurred in the millisecond before death. She waited. And waited. It never came. Surely that was a good sign? But Integra could not find it in herself at that moment to care. If she were dying, perhaps some film-like clips of her life should be flashing before her mind? Maybe a sudden knowledge would over-come her, or a feeling of anger, or perhaps contentment? At the very least, Alucard would be there before her, with his wicked smile that promised many things she didn't want to think about. Perhaps he would offer his blood again, or something else? Nothing. Not even thoughts of Alucard could provoke Integra into _feeling_ anything—emotional or otherwise. Idly, she wondered where he was. Shouldn't he be here by now? He was usually with her. Integra had noticed that as the years with him passed, she could hear his voice in her mind almost constantly—whether he was talking to her or not. Or perhaps she had just been hearing voices? In either case, it felt nice to finally have some quiet and solitude. Is this what death is? Nothingness? No pain, no pleasure, no real thought or meaningful emotion. It was so simple. And yet, something was terribly wrong. Hadn't she been dead before? Integra was almost positive she'd died at least a couple of times in her life. She was sure she'd died, albeit briefly, after Buvanche bit her, and she stabbed her own throat. It hadn't felt like this—this non-feeling. There was intense pain. And she had been angry—livid. And oddly, comforted. By Alucard. He _had_ been with her. How silly of her to think he could not transcend death to speak with her. So, she was not dead or dying. He would be here. So something else is wrong. Integra thought about moving her hands, curling her fingers into themselves and beating the floor—or whatever she was on. But truthfully, she could not tell if she moved her body or not, or even if she was laying on anything. Perhaps she was hanging? She could be upside down, curled into a fetal position, sitting cross-legged. _Where is Alucard?_ Integra thought she might have licked her lips, but really did not know for sure. She tried to talk, and maybe she did, but she could no longer hear anything, if indeed there was anything to hear. If a tree falls in a forest, and no one's around, does it make a noise? Or is the word "sound"? That makes a difference. If the word is "noise", then the answer is no, as the definition of noise is sound that is heard. If the word is "sound", then the answer is yes, because sounds are waves—and like light, whether or not anyone is there to record them either sensibly or through a machine, they still exist. _Where is Alucard?_ Integra was sure he could tell her the answer. After all, he'd existed for so long that he'd had to have watched many trees fall when no one else was around. And did he really count as "somebody"? The man was not a man, even. He was a phantom, for all his physical appearances held. And yet, Integra could remember touching him, him touching her—the few times she'd allowed it. Even the brush of his mind against hers had felt like a physical touch. And when he appeared out of a wall or thin air—it _seemed_ like he was made of nothing, but Integra always felt a slight parting of the air around her, a thickening of it, almost. So, he had to be physical, right? Vaguely remembering some smart-assed remark she'd made to him as a child about his penis or lack thereof, Integra told herself it didn't even matter to her, if he was a physical being or not. Why should he be on her mind, when she couldn't think clearly enough to know whether or not she was dead? What had he told her, in response to that verbal attack so many years ago? Something about jars—glass jars. Some sort of container. She remembered that it was funny to her at the time, truly amusing. One of the few times she had actually laughed completely. He had too—they were both laughing. _Where is he?_

"He cannot hear you." The woman's voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"Why not?" Integra asked.

"I don't know. Perhaps he does not want to."

"You are lying." Integra knew this. "He always hears, me, even when I don't want him to." Polite and condescending laughter echoed though Integra's head.

"I am not lying when I tell you that your mind is closed to him."

"What are you?"

"What? Not _who_?"

"I don't care who you are, or who you expect I believe you to be. I want to know what you are." Integra demanded.

"For shame, Integra. We are the same, you and I. You know what you are, don't you?"

Integra was tired of riddles. She opted not to argue, for once.

"Very well," the woman continued. "I am a very old creature, older by far than Alucard, though a woman never likes to speak of exact years. Let us simply accept that I do not look my age. And though you do not wish to know, I will tell you that I am called by many names, but I wouldn't mind if you addressed me as Sekhet. But I did not bring you here to talk about me—as fascinated as I am with that subject. I want to talk about you."

"Where is _here_?" Integra asked.

"Your body is in a storage facility on the bank of the Thames."

"I ask again, where is _here_?" No answer. "You don't know, do you?"

"It doesn't really matter where we are speaking, does it? Because, after all, you are not really speaking, you are thinking." Integra tucked this information away for later. "You have remarkable control over Alucard." Sekhet's voice dropped considerably, as though she were still digesting this bit of knowledge. "His power is immense—as I am sure you are aware—and yet, a little girl can somehow wield such influence over his nature."

"It was my ancestor's doing. Not mine." Integra surprised herself by admitting.

"No, actually, the bonds you speak of were broken over ten years ago, by your father."

Integra felt this information was highly pertinent to her life, but she could only manage a mild curiosity.

"Then why does he serve me?"

"An excellent question. And perhaps, when I see him I shall ask. However, I don't really want to talk about Alucard, either. As I said, I am very interested in you." She paused, and Integra sensed the woman's confusion. "He means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

"If you wish something from me, then ask." More laughter.

"You are beautiful, Integra. Completely vulnerable, in the presence of the oldest vampire in existence, and yet still enough brass to be rude. I understand completely how Alucard must feel around you. I want a great deal from you, but not at this moment. Right now, I simply wanted to see you. Talk to you. I enjoy talking to you, Integra. You are very stimulating."

"I've heard better from Alucard." Integra felt a sharp scratching in her mind—the first she'd actually felt since the hands first accosted her. Pain seared through her, burning like acid in her veins.

"I'm sure you have. Be sure to ask him, if you see him again, why he is warm at night, when you lay cold in your bed." The pain abruptly stopped, and Integra felt she could breathe again. "The fact is, I've unfinished business with you, Integra. I cannot, shall we say, _progress_ and _grow_ until I know that things are right between us again."

"You mean our relationship has always been so unhappy? Shocking."

"Cheeky! You should be grateful to me for even allowing you. Alucard is disgusting, killing his own kind, but you, my dear have become an abomination."

"What I've done must indeed be wretched if you look down on it."

"As gripping as this conversation is, I am afraid I must leave you alone now. I'm afraid you won't be with me long anyway, as the mind can only take so much havoc wreaked upon the body."

Integra heard no more. But she began to feel her body and wished fervently she couldn't.


	7. All Ashes to the Taste

Do I really need a disclaimer?

**Pan's New Flute**

**Chapter 7: All Ashes to the Taste**

"_There are apple-trees on the sides of the Dead Sea which bear lovely fruit, but within are full of ashes."_

"_Even as a broken Mirror, which the Glass_

_In every fragment multiplies; and makes _

_A thousand images of one that was,_

_The same, and still the more, the more it breaks;_

_And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,_

_Living in shattered guise; and still, and cold,_

_And bloodless, with its sleepless Sorrow aches, _

_Yet withers on till all without is old,_

_Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold._

_There is a very life in our despair,_

_Vitality of poison – a quick root_

_Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were _

_As nothing did we die; but Life will suit_

_Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit,_

_Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, _

_All ashes to the taste…_

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, George Gordon, Lord Byron Canto III st. 33-34

Richter's nose bled. Profusely. It didn't help that he kept sneezing, spattering blood all over the sink and mirror in the men's. It ran down his throat, choking him and forcing him to hack it back up. He hated that. His father had done that so often. Every morning, once every couple of hours throughout the day. Sometimes he would choke on his food for no reason and clear his throat loudly. Richter hated that sound, so vulgar and gravelly. He kept expecting, in those years, to go to the toilet and find a lung floating in the bowl.

After half an hour of leaning his head back, pinching his nose with tissue, and choking on the draining blood, the mess was finally complete.

His body had been performing some very bizarre functions of late. It didn't stop with bleeding noses; his limbs would suddenly go slack and refuse to move. Sometimes he thought he saw tiny insects burrowing under his skin, though thankfully that was a rare occurrence. At times, he would look up from whatever he was doing, and his sight would turn red or yellow, as though he were looking through colored glasses. In the past year, Richter had taken at least 17 sick days. Whispers—and only whispers—went around the force that the years were simply catching up to him. Old wounds were beginning to open again, or perhaps it was just the scarring process?

It didn't matter. He would not be long at this station. He was tired of it anyway. There seemed to be a never-ending supply of fuck-ups, worthless criminals who probably needed Internet manuals for their crimes. It paid the bills, but who the hell was counting anyway? He had no need to keep the books anymore.

There was a time when Richter might have cared about his job, or at least the income, but that had passed four years earlier. Four years ago, he had someone who'd depended on his job, on whatever he could bring home. Now it was just Richter. He thought it might be about time for him to go into business for himself.

He quickly changed his shirt in his office and sat down as though nothing had ever been wrong. Discreetly protruding from his mailbox was a small, blue envelope, un-addressed, with no return. Richter locked his door and returned to his desk before opening it.

The check was for 10 million pounds, addressed simply to XE Industries. Richter would give quite a lot to know who the organization's wealthy benefactor was. Maybe when the operation came to a head, the individual—if indeed it was only one person—would reveal him or herself.

Richter picked up the phone and dialed. A nasally voiced man answered it immediately.

"Connolly." Richter said by way of greeting.

……

"Alright. We've got 13 minutes to clean the place up. Pull the bodies out and we'll take them to the coroner. This building is set to be inspected by quadrant housing supervisor in a week. Do not leave anything in the building. No blood. No weapons, linen, nothing. 13 minutes! Get to it!" Shank watched as the cleaners ran into the building. Nine hours ago they'd stormed the place, capturing the suspect and transporting her to a secure storage facility near the Woolwich dockyard on the bank of the Thames. The operation had been more than successful. At least in the eyes of Captain Dobbs. Shank wasn't entirely confident of that, however. Their prisoner was Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing. He and his team had been informed of the suspect's identity, and the matter was simply left at that. But neither Shank nor his men were stupid. He had recognized her immediately. He understood that he was involved in something very messy with the higher ups. He had a really nasty feeling in his stomach, his mouth wouldn't stop watering, and his knees felt like pudding. Sort of the feeling you get right before you throw up. Something very bad was going to happen.

"Marcus, give me a report!" Shank called through the mic.

"We're just about finished, sir. We've got—" The other end went dead, and Shank heard a loud thud. He pulled his gun and ran into the building. He heard screams and shots fired as he ran frantically up the stairs. He arrived at the top just in time to see one of his men thrown out of a room by an obscene force. Then the shots stopped.

Silently, Shank moved up the stairs, four armed men following him. The walls were caked in blood and his men lay scattered across the floor, heads falling in unnatural positions. He turned right and stopped abruptly at the sight.

Last night, he knew that both the young woman and the old man were dead. He couldn't have been wrong. Her head had been a bloody mass of brains and bone. But that same woman was now crouched on her haunches, blonde hair flecked with blood, and dribbles of it running down the sides of her mouth. Her eyes were red. That alone didn't frighten Shank much; he'd seen a lot of weird things in his life. It was the look in her eyes that made his breath freeze. She was not human. She couldn't be alive. He aimed his gun mindlessly and fired. Each shot hit her, blowing holes in her chest and her knees. He watched in horror as the wounds closed. She stood up slowly, against the rain of bullets Shank and his men fired at her. Each time, the holes healed themselves immediately, almost upon impact. Then she leaped up with a great cry and rushed the men. In 6 seconds flat, Shank's men joined the ranks of the dismembered. He was the only one left standing. The woman turned around, the feral look gone from her eyes, replaced by a sadness equally horrifying. Blood tears ran down her cheeks. He stood mesmerized, terror threatening to engulf him. He was going to die, and he couldn't even move to try and fight it. The woman took hold of his gun and crushed it in her hand, tossing it to the floor. She looked around at the carnage she had created, then her eyes moved to stare at the room opposite them. Shank had not noticed it yet, but he saw a pair of black-trousered legs sticking out from behind the door. He vaguely recalled that must be the old man he shot last night. The woman turned back to him, grasped him by the front of his uniform and pulled him to the floor. She leaned her head down to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. For some reason, all Shank could think was how weird it was that he couldn't feel her breathing on his skin. He recalled his girlfriend, laying on top of him, and feeling her warm breath against his chest. It was very odd.

Seras hesitated only briefly, the memory of Walter, and before him Captain Ferguson, Captain Gareth, her friends in D-11. All the people she'd been unable to save. How many people had she seen die, sometimes in her very arms? Without further pause, Seras bit into the man's neck, and felt like she'd stepped off a cliff. She'd never tasted living blood and wondered how she could have lived without it. Hot energy surged through her, and she eagerly drank the man to his death, savoring every drop. When he fell limp in her arms, she continued only briefly, the sudden change from living to dead blood overwhelming her senses. She dropped him and sat back, her eyes closed, head thrown back and mouth open. She could feel herself becoming stronger, feel the energy coursing through her veins like live wire. Her hair seemed to stand on end and small currents of electricity seemed to run up and down her spine. She felt physically very good.

Seras began to cry again. Not loudly or with the deep wracking sobs that had overcome her after her father's death. But the bloody tears welled up and fell between her drawn up knees. Slowly, she pushed herself up from the floor and walked into the room where Walter now lay motionless.

She had laid him out carefully and folded his arms over his chest. Panic had yet to hit her, but she knew when it did, it would have the force of a Mack truck. She sat down beside him, and took his hand in hers. Rubbing the calluses softly, studying in detail the fine lines around his knuckles and the tips of his fingers. His hands were very well-manicured. She avoided looking at his face. She thought that maybe she could memorize him in pieces. She remembered most vividly the way his hands looked when he set out tea for Sir Integra. How deadly when he used his wires. Funny that, after so many years of using such a dangerous weapon, his hands lacked scars or scratches one might expect. Then Seras realized she couldn't remember if he wore gloves very often, or indeed at all.

Then she looked at his face. She played over in her mind when Walter had first presented her with the Harconnen. How terrified she'd been then! And how very pleased with his work Walter was. He had that quirky, obnoxious and slightly scary smile when he presented to her that cannon.

Now he was dead.

Walter was dead, and Sir Integra was gone. Seras had no idea where the police might have taken her. Perhaps Alucard was on her trail? That's why he wasn't here, when Seras and Walter needed him. He knew what had happened and was looking for Integra. Perhaps he had already found her?

Seras felt the panic creeping in. Angrily, she pushed it down until it became her strength. She knew what she needed to do. Where to go. She leaned forward, kissed Walter's cold forehead and covered him with a blanket. Then she changed her clothes and left.

……

Jules watched the tele with growing dismay and a sickening feeling of failure as the newscaster spoke in front of a tall, yellow-washed building by the wharf.

"…mass chaos here in this tiny hovel. As of ten minutes ago, twelve bodies have been found inside the building, grotesquely mangled. Eleven were clearly members of the London police force, while the twelfth victim is as yet, unidentified." A brief flash of police tape around the scene kicked something in Jules' brain and he jumped off the ottoman.

"They only found one unidentified body. If they had found Sir Integra they would have broadcast it." He paced back and forth, half-listening to the newscaster for anymore pertinent information.

"We have lists of a few interrogation centers for the MI-5. Mostly old crack-houses. Would she still even be in the country?" Niall asked quietly. He sat at a computer, staring at the screen.

"Yes. We know for a certainty that the funding stems from within the UK. It's filtered through a bank account in Switzerland—"

"No surprise there." Liz quipped.

"But the source is here. Here is where there base of operations is. She's here." Jules' face had taken on a sort of frightening intensity. The room was silent for a moment.

"May I ask why she is so important to our mission, sir?" Niall said. His fingers flew quickly over the keyboard, sharp eyes scanning database after database.

"We've gotten along quite well for the past 6 years without her. Why should we need the frosty bitch now?" Liz asked, downing the last of her beer.

Jules didn't answer. He stared at the tele, as though in a trance. Suddenly, he whipped his head around to face Niall.

"Find her."

……

Alucard had no problem finding the hunters he and Integra had encountered last night. They were perfectly conspicuous on the corner of Marlboro Street, nestled in between a tobacco shop and an electronics store. Alucard had no desire to see their base, however. He wasn't even curious. And that was strange for him, he had to admit. Integra's orders hadn't included that, however. Just to find the hunters. He turned around, to find some other amusement, suddenly finding himself incredibly bored, and froze. People walked past him, bumping into his body and he didn't even notice. The electronics store had several television sets on for display in the window, tuned to the news. Behind the reporter, bodies were being rolled out on stretchers. One stumbled and the sheet covered corpse revealed itself to be Walter.

……

Seras nearly cried in relief when Alucard's voice hit her mind like a ton of bricks.

_Where is Integra?_

_"_I don't know! They just burst in. They took her, and Walter is dead."

_I know. Who took Integra? Was it the Round Table?_

_"_No, the police." A passerby gave Seras a strange look, before continuing. Seras didn't care.

_Where are you? _

_"_What do you mean where am I? How can you not know? Why didn't you come to help us? We—"

_Where are you?_

_"_I—I'm on St. Nicolas Ave, just behind the Catholic Church. I've found someone who might have some information about Sir Integra."

Alucard blended into the brick of the wall when he saw the hunters emerge from the building.

_Stay put. I'll be there momentarily,_ he told Seras.

"I've narrowed it down to three locations, sir. One is 1523 Ellis Street. That's the old warehouse on the west side. The second is 119 Myrtle Avenue, that's on the other side of the river. Both locations are on the wharf, sir." Niall said, looking at the post-it on which he'd written three addresses.

"Good. And the third?" Jules jumped in the car, followed by Liz and Niall.

"A place called Mirsher's Ferry."

"That's the old brewery, isn't it? Down by Lexington?" Niall nodded. "She won't be there. That's temporary interrogation only. The place is used as a haunted house every year for Halloween. Dunno why the police allow it, though. The whole building's liable to hit the sky should someone light a cigarette."

"Why, what's wrong with it?" Liz asked as she buckled her seatbelt.

"When it shut down 7 years ago, something went wrong with the gas cables attached to the brewing area, whatever the hell you call it. Anyway, they still leak gas every now and then."

"Why the fuck don't they shut the fucking gas off?"

"Dunno, guess they just forgot about it."

Alucard waited until they had driven away before reappearing on the sidewalk.

"Hey! That's a great magic trick! Are you a performer? Sorry I don't have any change to give you, but—" Alucard turned around slowly to look at the innocent man, smiled widely to show his teeth and growled. The human was gaping in shock when Alucard stalked away.

……

"Look, I'm not going to rat you out. I just want to know what you saw." Seras was using her best people skills, which she'd never had, to coax the transient into talking. A tip had led her to the old man, sitting harmlessly by himself in an alleyway, with a small cat purring at his side. Surprisingly, the cat wasn't afraid of Seras, unlike most animals now. She could now count on not owning a pet of any sort.

"No. I didn't see anything, and I'm not tellin' if I did."

"Let me try." Alucard materialized beside Seras, walking out of the air like it was a doorway. The old man did not appear to be too ruffled by this. He slouched down even more, one leg apparently curled up underneath a filthy trench coat, the other drawn up against his chest. He smoked a cigar, and the stench nearly sent Seras' senses into over-drive.

"I don't care if yer a demon. I'm not sayin' a bleedin' word." He continued to pet his cat as though nothing extraordinary had just occurred. Alucard was mildly offended, but brushed it aside.

"Alright, old man, you don't look like anything I'd like to eat right now, but this looks like a nice mid-morning snack." Alucard snatched up the cat by the scruff of its neck and held it over his open jaws. After two brief moments of contemplation, the homeless man exhaled and glared at Alucard and Seras, as though they had truly just ruined his day.

"There's an old brewery on the south side of the wharf, I think it's on Engles Street, down by Lexington. That's where they took yer friend. I'm sure of it."

"How do you know? You didn't run after them, obviously." Seras demanded. The old man cackled hideously, and lifted up his long trench coat to reveal empty space where his leg should have been.

"No indeed, missy, I canna run anywhere. Me friends down in Worth told me about it. News travels fast." He waited, studying Alucard who still held the cat, but gently now, softly and absently petting its head. "Ya gonna eat that or give it back to me? I got few friends; like to keep 'em, if ya don't mind." Alucard set the cat in the man's lap. "I knew ya wouldn't eat Kelly. She's got too much hair. Same reason I 'aven't eaten 'er." He stroked the cat a while, then continued, more somber than before. "For my part, I hope ya get 'er out. With Miss 'Ellsing gone, who in bloody 'ell's gonna kill them wot's eatin' all of London?" Seras' eyes widened. She hadn't realized anyone knew about the mission of the Hellsing Organization, much less about vampires themselves. He was not a vampire, so…

"Are you a familiar, sir?" Seras asked bluntly. He laughed and shook his head.

"You think I'd still be here, like this, if I were pals with one o' you lot? No, like I said, word gets 'round tunnels. Coppers think they've been closed up these past decades. Not true. How else we s'posed to get 'round and get news 'round?"

"The tunnels? You mean the sewers?" Seras asked.

"Tha's right. Now the two o' you get lost. Yer ruining my peace." Alucard had already turned around. Seras stopped and faced the old man again.

"I am Seras. What's your name?"

"Bently." Seras nodded. He made a mocking, half bow from where he sat.

Seras ran to catch up with Alucard.

"Alucard. Alucard! Where did you go? Why didn't you come to help us? I called you, but you didn't answer. Where were you, what happened?" Alucard swung around, startling Seras into an abrupt halt. He leaned forward to stare her in the eyes.

"I couldn't hear you."

"What do you mean? What about Sir Integra?"

"I could not hear her." He stormed into a crowd of people, pushing past them, angry and, he despised himself to admit it, feeling himself a miserable failure. "I didn't even realize it until I saw the Goddamn tele. I didn't even notice—" he almost screamed the word, "that I couldn't hear her thoughts, or smell her, or bloody fucking _feel_ her!" He stopped suddenly, causing Seras to bowl right into his back.

"Why couldn't I?" He looked at Seras. "Could you feel me? At all, during the coup?" She shook her head. He stared at her a moment longer, then continued walking. "The human hunters are looking for her as well. We have one up on them, however. I still cannot sense Integra's presence, but we at least know where we are going."

"How do we know he wasn't lying, or perhaps mistaken?"

"His story coincides rather elegantly with an overheard conversation." _I'll get her back. She is not dead. Just because I cannot feel her presence or hear her thoughts, does not mean anything. She is alive. She will not be dead. _

Seras was speaking.

"But, please!" She pulled on his jacket sleeve, remarkably physical, whereas she almost expected to just push her hand right through him. When was the last time she had touched him? When he turned her. That was it.

"Please." She didn't even know what she was asking for. "What about Walter?" Alucard's face remained expressionless. "I—"

"If you are seeking absolution, I can't give you that. You failed. He is dead." Seras' eyes widened. Blood red tears began to well up, threatening to spill over. "I will however say that Walter was first and foremost a soldier. It was not only his duty to die defending Integra, it was his expectation." Alucard leaned closer to Seras' face, sniffed slightly at her skin and studied the fresh blush on her cheeks and neck. Smelled the warm, living blood still surging through her body.

"It's about time." He said simply, and continued on.

It wasn't quite forgiveness, but Seras felt ready to move on. With new resolve, she ran to keep up with Alucard's long, purposeful strides.

……

Integra was not in good shape. She was soaking wet from head to toe and the air conditioning had been turned on full blast in her cell. Her hands were bound behind her back and she lay on her side. The walls and floor were white and padded, with a tiny air vent about twenty feet high near the ceiling. They gave her nothing but panties and a tank.

_She came to with her hands and feet bound around a chair. Cold water was thrown unceremoniously over her. She gasped and spit, the shock robbing her of breath._

_A man stood in front of her, studying her, trying to figure out what she was thinking. He began very sweetly, in a tone almost cajoling in its sincerity._

_"What is your power over the vampire Alucard?" He asked. Once she regained her breath and calmed her heart rate, Integra looked up at him. He had very dark blue eyes. Her father's eyes, actually. _

_"You bear an uncanny resemblance to my late uncle." Integra told him. He gave a half-assed lopsided grin._

_"Really. I am told I resemble a lot of people. But, I'd like to talk about your uncle." He took a drink of water, set the glass down calmly on the table. Integra feigned interest. "When you were a mere 13, you murdered him, is that right?" She nodded._

_"Yes."_

_"But you were not alone. And you certainly did not rip his arm off. Nor did you mutilate the other members of Hellsing who were with him at the time." _

_"No, I didn't. I simply shot him in the head." _

_"The vampire Alucard did the rest, did he?" Integra nodded. "And why did he not kill you?"_

_"He is in service to my family."_

_"Ah yes, the arcane controls, the secret incantations that bind his blood to yours." He walked behind her, stood at her shoulder. "But then, if he was controlled by your family, more recently by your late father, why was he confined so securely? He obviously could not be controlled, and yet, again, a little girl of 13 was able to do what hundreds of soldiers and ancient magic could not do?" He moved to stand in front of her again, looked her body up and down, lingering on her mouth and her breasts, her slender waist and muscled legs, back up to her blue eyes and long blonde hair. "I can see why any man would be entranced by you, but forgive me if I am a little skeptical of such happening to a monster like Alucard."_

_Integra recalled Alucard's words to her at the time. He'd had her pinned against the dirty brick wall in that dungeon, and told her quite bluntly that she made him hard. Not an ordinary introduction to the world of sex, not by any means._

Integra had refused to answer the man's questions regarding her relationship to the vampire. Not only did she have no inclination to give them anything they wanted, she—disturbingly—did not know the answers. But she did not tell them that either. However, the idea was beginning to perplex her.

And something the vampire Sekhet had said, about Alucard having broken the bonds between master and servant long ago. What was she on about? But at the moment, Integra had other things to worry about. She supposed the only reason Alucard had not come to her aid was because he could not hear her. She refused to believe he had simply taken his freedom and run, leaving her to hopefully die in silence. And there was no hope of him smelling her, either. The men who captured her were apparently very well-versed in persuasion methods that did not involve shedding her blood. She had been held under water, burned with steam, smacked and dragged around by her hair, amongst other indignities. But not a drop of blood to lead him to her. And she really had no idea where he was anyway, if he was close enough to catch her scent. But then, he didn't really need to be in close proximity.

There was an incident when she was 15 and had gone on holiday in Ireland with Walter. She had been a "late bloomer", and had begun to menstruate that year. Unfortunately, Alucard had realized the change before she had. And he had been in London at the time. She recalled his snide words to her about catching some and bringing it back to him as a present when she returned. At the time, the whole mess had been one more humiliating aspect of growing up. But now, Integra realized Alucard had made life much easier for her, with his crude wit and cavalier attitude toward what many considered taboo. Sex, drugs, periods, killing, nothing was exempt from his scrutiny and acidic tongue.

For the thousandth time, Integra tried to squirm out of her bonds. If she could only loose one hand, she could tear out a few of her stitches and maybe bleed a little. It suddenly seemed the most important thing in the world. She stretched and thrashed around on the floor, pulling her skin as far as she could simply by stretching. Nothing happened, though.

The door opened and the man stepped into the room. He walked around, examining the room, for what she had no idea.

"I'm going to be very brief, Miss Hellsing." He bent and lifted her up into a kneeling position by her neck. "Let me make is clear to you that you are alive only because the Lady Sekhet has a use for you. I, however have very little that I want from you, so you might as well try to keep me happy. Now, all known members of the Hellsing Organization have been terminated, according to our sources." Integra struggled to speak against his hand.

"Your sources aren't very good then." He dropped her to the floor and she began coughing and gasping.

"Clearly. Who is still alive?"

"I am, for the time being, anyway." Integra murmured. The man smacked her hard, but again, no blood was drawn.

"Aside from the monster Alucard, who is alive? We've eliminated everyone, including your butler, was it Walter?" Integra suddenly couldn't breathe. Walter was dead. Walter was dead? He couldn't. She shook her head, but refused to cry.

"I repeat, who is left?"

"Why? Did something bad scare you?" Integra taunted. She was going to get out of this place one way or another. The man through picked her up and threw her against the wall. Though it was padded it still hurt like a bitch. Still, she egged him on.

"Maybe next time you should do the job yourself, instead of having incompetent lackeys dirty their hands." He picked her up by her hair and pulled her across the room. When he yanked her up, some of her hair came out in his hand. She felt a slow trickle of wetness down her scalp. It wasn't enough. Integra pulled the next bit of information partially from past conversations with associates and partially out of her ass.

"But then, you can't, can you? You know, I've met her. Sekhet. In a sense, that is. I'd wager you have too. The way I hear it, Richter, you've been having some strange medical issues of late. I suppose that goes with the territory, though. After all, you can't expect to fuck a corpse and walk away with nothing." Richter threw his fist into her face. She fell backwards and gingerly turned on her side. Almost triumphantly, she spat the blood out of her mouth, as well as a piece of tooth. She could see spots of blood on her shirt, where the stitches had torn out. She smiled and flicked her hair over her shoulder. The blood was all over her face, and across the white floor. She wiped her face on the floor, and spit as much as she could out. Three men and a woman came rushing into the room. One of the men wore a suit. He grabbed Richter around the waist and pulled him away before he would pummel Integra anymore.

"You idiot! She said no blood!" Richter stared hard at Integra.

"Clean her up." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. "Any word from Dobbs?" Richter asked. The suit shook his head.

"Nothing."

"Get the media off the fucking air. They've done enough damage, I don't want them mentioning the officers' names or the association with Hellsing. Now!" The suit left and the other three were busy trying to get Integra up off the floor. She was nearly out. Richter studied her, calmly now, his temper controlled. She was nothing. It didn't matter about the officers. Shank and the others. It was a minor setback. A little more attention than he'd wished, but nothing more. Still, he'd love to know who exactly had done that. He knew it wasn't Alucard. Alucard would have left at least one alive to give him information. And he would have been here by now. Richter was very familiar with Alucard's style. A part of him actually admired the vampire. His power, mostly. And a part of Richter despised the creature, simply because he was an enigma. Richter had never been given orders to interrogate Integra. Simply to hold her and keep her. Which he'd done. The questions were his own private curiosity. He truly wanted to understand how Integra came to hold so much power over so powerful a monster. After several of their sessions, however, he had begun to question whether Integra really understood that fully herself. He took out a cigarette and his lighter and watched as the nurses untied Integra's hands and lifted her up to inspect her body.

The suit came hurriedly back into the room.

"Sir, there's something wrong." Richter said nothing, simply waited. "There appears to be a gas valve leak somewhere in the building. We haven't located it yet, but we are working on it." Richter closed his eyes, wondering what else was going to happen.

"I guess this means I can't smoke inside." He rubbed his face hard and sniffed, stuffing the lighter inside his pocket again. "Alright. Start loading everything up. Get everyone out of here that isn't absolutely necessary. Leave behind four guards. We are moving."

Integra leapt out of the nurses' care and lunged at Richter without a word. She landed hard against his chest and they both fell to the floor. After a brief scuffle, he smacked her hard and shoved her off of him. Standing, utterly indignant, Richter straightened his jacket and collar, pulling his tie in place and glared at Integra, who was being held back by the nurses.

"Keep that bitch under tight security at all times. I don't want to know she exists."

The whole situation had become more than slightly farcical to Richter. He almost felt like he was on the Benny Hill show, running back and forth in a monkey costume. He wasn't accomplishing anything he'd meant to today, except hand over the money and set the ball rolling on new lines of production. That was it. He felt as though his time with Integra was waste. Add to that, he hated the woman in the first place. Always had. She had all this _power_, and refused to use it. He didn't understand why She wanted Integra so badly. But then, he didn't ask for reasons. He was simply a go-to man. That was his job right now. But not forever. Richter nodded affirmation to himself, then turned and walked out the door.

……

Integra was pulled along the hallway, her feet dragging behind her. The nurses half carried her through the building, as she seemingly could not stand on her own. Her mouth and nose were still bleeding, as was the wound in her side. It became quite clear to her, however, that outside help was not coming any time soon.

Angry and frantic running greeted Integra's company. Richter skirted to a stop, his associate close on his heels.

"Get everyone out, now! Especially her." He thrust a finger in Integra's face. "Get all the witnesses, every officer out. The gas leak is huge. The valves are unstable and liable to burst open at any moment! MOVE NOW!" He led the way down the hall, the nurses pulling Integra along at breakneck speed.

……

Alucard watched as the guards drew their guns against him. He could barely pick up Integra's scent, but she was here. Alucard ignored the bullets, preferring to leave them to Seras. She deflected them easily, her newfound strengths increasing by the minute. He felt quite proud of her. His thoughts narrowed to inside the building. Insistently, he called Integra's name.

Integra lifted her head sharply as Alucard's voice echoed in her mind.

_Integra. I am outside._

_Then get inside!_

_I can't. Literally. _

_Afraid of a few guards, now?_

_Not likely. There is some sort of barrier, an elemental, spiritual barrier around the building. As it is, I'm surprised we can communicate._

_There isn't time to talk anyway. If you can't get in, you'll need to help me from outside. The gas valves are leaking like mad. I'm being escorted through the tunnels in the sub-basement._

_Have you noticed how you always manage to get yourself into trouble in the deepest levels of a building? It's damned uncanny, Integra._

_Cute. _

_What can I do?_

_I need you to break a few valves. They need to burst open._

_What do you have in mind?_

The walls around Integra began to shake violently. The sound of metal crunching against metal echoed through the halls. Richter and the nurses clapped their hands over their ears in pain against the obscene screeching. The floor cracked beneath their feet, as though through an earthquake. The electric lamps along the side of the wall blew all at once, leaving them in darkness. Suddenly, everything was perfectly still and quiet. The emergency lights came on, flashing green in the dark. Richter stood up, and gingerly uncovered his head. The nurses were no where in sight. Apparently they had run away, leaving him alone with Integra. Integra! Where was she? He swiveled around, momentarily startled to see her standing behind him ten feet away. The green light flashed across her face, accentuating her cheekbones, drawing strange shadows under her eyes and around her neck. She stared at him quite calmly, standing completely still, totally at ease.

The light flashed again, and Richter saw what she held in her hand. He had a brief moment to fumble in his pocket for his matches, not finding them, horrified comprehension flooding his mind.

Before he could react, Integra flipped the book open and struck a match with one hand. She threw it behind her, and the last thing Richter saw was white heat.

……

Seras gaped open-mouthed in shock and horror as the old brewery in which Integra was interred exploded into flame. She leapt back, clearing the distance easily without thinking, finding Alucard at her side. He stared at the destruction, intent, as though he might see through the mess and inside the inferno. There was no way Integra would have survived that. What was she thinking? Panic ripped through him, threatening to engulf his senses.

He felt suddenly very cold, as though someone had thrown his physical body in ice water. He took a moment to realize the sensation did not belong to him.

_Alucard. _

_Integra. _

_I'm alright. By that, I mean I am breathing._

_You are in the river._

_For now. Stay where you are. Don't follow me._

_I'm not following you._

_I'll explain it all later. Suffice it to say, if I'm to get out of this mess, I have to do it solo. Our enemy can track you wherever you go. I don't want her to know where I am going._

_It wouldn't take much to bring you a towel, Integra._

_I'm in no mood for jokes, Alucard. I will give you instructions once I'm in a safe place._

_Safety is not that much of a stretch. I am not a child in the art of defense, Integra._

_Alucard, you will do as I command. _

_Of course, Master._

"I can't believe it. She's dead. She's dead, too." Seras was shaking her head in confusion.

"Integra is alive, Seras. But for everybody else, she is dead."

Seras stared at Alucard for a moment before nodding.

"I understand."

"Let's go." Alucard turned to leave, but stopped when Jules' yellow Volkswagen screeched to a halt. Jules leapt out of the car, gun drawn, followed by Niall and Liz. At first sight of the burning building, harmoniously accompanied by smaller explosions from within, Jules viciously kicked the car and punched the door.

"Goddamnit!" He bent over the hood of the car, resting his head in his arms. Liz and Niall said nothing, not knowing what to say.

Alucard sauntered over to the hunters slowly, Seras beside him.

"Did you think you were going to be able to rescue the damsel in distress with pistols and knives?" Alucard sneered. Jules whipped around, Liz and Niall's weapons already drawn and ready.

"You! You're her servant! Where is she! She is alive, isn't she?" Jules demanded. He did not bother to point his gun at either of the vampires, accepting the futility of such a move.

Alucard shrugged non-chalantly.

"I have no idea. I haven't been in contact with her since you and we parted ways." Seras made no comment.

"So she means nuthin' to you? I thought as you were some sor' of indentured servant." Liz asked.

"I was. Now I'm not. Or rather, if she is dead, I am not." Alucard breathed in deeply, theatrically. "Come, Seras. It is a beautiful time to hunt. Something you should have learned long ago, and something I have not been able to do for a few years." Jules noticed Seras for the first time. His eyes widened in recognition, but even as questions began, he said nothing as the two vampires walked away. Jules watched them for a minute, and then stared at the flame engulfed brewery in heavy silence.

"It's over, then?" Niall asked. Jules shook his head decisively.

"No. It is far from over. She is not dead." He continued to stare at the fire, thinking. "The vampires are hiding her. I want to know where."

Sirens began to scream nearby and lights flashed. Jules stood a moment long, then got into the car.

"We need to leave, as well. Police will be here shortly."

……

Richter's body hurt everywhere. Alternately, he was burning up, and then freezing cold. At times, he was both. He could not swallow, could barely breathe without the machines attached to his body.

He couldn't blink, and yet, he could not bear to keep his eyes open. In his chest, Richter could feel his heart beating, then slowing down, then speeding up. Sporadic. Erratic. Damaged.

Since he couldn't close his eyes, he let them roam around the room, the only thing on his body capable of movement. It was clearly a hospital. Clean, cheery walls decorated in the sort of heinous flowers one finds in retirement centers. The places where people go to die. That was it then. He wasn't dead, but he was dying. He had come here to die.

He heard the door open to his room, and a sterile looking doctor walked in.

"Good! You're awake. How's the morphine working? Great. Excellent. You know, you are one lucky son of a bitch. Anyone else would have gone _kaboom!_ Like the brewery." He made explosion gestures with his hands and arms, and his face turned into a blowfish. "Oh! I almost forgot! You have your first visitor! Now, normally, critical patients such as yourself cannot have visitors. But, for this one, I'll make an exception. She was sooooooooooo incredibly excited to see you. So, I'll leave you two alone. You probably have A LOT to talk about. Call me if you need me!" The doctor made clicking motions with his thumb, and then pointed at a device near Richter's hand on the bed. It was his morphine dispenser. The doctor left the room, and a moment later, the door opened again.

Richter lost all breath. His eyes widened, and his body began to shake. He could feel his heart thudding throughout every limb and nerve. He was terrified. And excited.

"I'm disappointed, John." Sekhet purred. She was dressed in a simple, yet elegant navy blue suit, with the faintest hint of metallic shine. She pulled a chair up to his bed and sat down, crossing her legs. "I very much needed to speak with Miss Hellsing." She sighed dramatically. "And now, I can't find her, Mr. Richter."

Sekhet stood up slowly and moved toward the head of the bed. Richter watched her every move like a hawk, not that he expected he could do anything against her. She bent forward, and gently licked his ear. He closed his eyes in pain, as apparently his ears were totally burned as well.

"John, I am not in the habit of giving second chances—mmmm, your blood tastes good—but unfortunately you are the only man who can help me. No one else is quite as intelligent as you, recent mishaps an exception, of course. However, just because I need you doesn't mean I mustn't make you understand the enormity of what you have done. Make you understand _my_ loss, as yours." She scraped her teeth along his neck, tearing off already fragile skin. She held onto his body from both sides of his chest, and her fingernails dug in. Richter finally screamed, but couldn't move. Sekhet bent forward more, and a small vial of liquid fell out of her bodice. She looked down, feigning surprise.

"Oh! I'd forgotten I put that there. These modern garments are so convenient, you know?" She unscrewed the lid, and Richter smelled what very much appeared to be alcohol of some sort. Sekhet stripped the thin sheet off his body and tipped the vial over.

"The human body is so intriguing, so susceptible to the strangest sensations. You see, John, some have called me sadistic, but really I'm just curious. Call it my love of knowledge. I'm very interested in this elemental sensation humans call pain. Because, you see, I cannot feel it for myself." She smiled sweetly as Richter lay paralyzed, unable to even writhe in pain.

……

Alucard and Seras stood side by side and watched in silence as Walter's body was enveloped in flames. All they could hear was the snap of the wood and the sizzle of burning flesh.

Seras was rock-still. But the confusion and sadness had finally left her face for good. A new resolution had filled her, and she was not afraid.

Alucard paid his respects to his friend, and wondered about his own curious state of mind, that he could grieve so. He'd lost a friend, one of the few he'd say he had. They'd all lost a clever and very talented man. Alucard supposed he hadn't given Walter much credit over the years for being an exceptional human being. In fact, when Walter was quite a young man, not even 14, but still more than deadly with his wires, he had challenged Alucard to a fight. Of course, it was no contest, and afterward Alucard had taunted Walter for his weakness and the futility of being human.

"Sorry about that, Walter."


	8. Afterimage: Pt 1

Disclaimed.

**Pan's New Flute**

**Chapter 8: Afterimage**

**Part I: The Lingering Odor Reminds You of Something You Never Experienced, Though You Dreamt It, Perhaps. **

_The last stroke of midnight dies.  
All day in the one chair  
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged  
In rambling talk with an image of air:  
Vague memories, nothing but memories. _

_~Broken Dreams, WB Yeats_

Holding the small figurine in her hand, Integra felt an overwhelming sense of having come full circle in her life. Its tiny and intricately carved ivory features were still vital, and not worn with age. Integra rubbed her thumb over its head, over its arms, one gently cupping a skullcap filled with menstrual blood, the sacred _kappala_, and in the other, a wicked-looking blade, formed as a crescent, used for scalping. Its head was that of a lion, with hair more like flames than a mane forming a sort of bastardized halo. Simhavaktra. The fierce, lion-headed dakini of Tibet.

But the small goddess' ferocious face and evil accessories belied her true nature. Her melodic pose, as though in mid-step to an unearthly dance, and the purity of the ivory, suggested the true character of this persona. She is the inspiration of mortals. She is the truth that burns its way through falsehood and evil. She forces her followers to look in the mirror and see themselves for who they truly are, pride as well as guilt. And, once accomplished, such epiphany would lead to ascension, into the world of the gods themselves.

No small task for such a small ornament, Integra thought, and handed the eager vendor a few notes.

Years ago, quite before Integra could clearly remember, her mother had given her a talisman from her homeland, shortly before the family left for England. It was a smaller version of the dakini, in precious metals and stones, attached to a necklace. It had been confiscated shortly before Integra took reign of the Hellsing Organization, as a remnant of idolatrous tendencies. A devout Christian, Integra still could never quite bring herself to forget Simhavaktra.

"Integra." Integra glanced to her left at the old, grizzled man, grimly reminded of why she was here. The old man muttered something unintelligible, but judging from his past remarks, likely it had to do with the nature of privileged young English women. He waved his crutch in her direction, motioning for her to join him.

"Bently?"

"I've found it."

**********

Alucard sat on the edge of Canary Wharf Tower, one leg dangling over the side, the other drawn up. He rested his arm on his knee, pulling from a blood packet, eyes squinting in concentration from behind his glasses. Integra did not know, but he loved this particular spot. The tallest building in the UK, rising from the city at 235 meters. A testament to the excess of former decades. And a place Alucard found particularly entertaining, as it afforded him an especially comprehensive view of the surrounding city. The building could be seen from most of the city, in particular South London, but Alucard himself was invisible. As an aside, Alucard loved the height itself. In all his centuries of existence, humans finally came into their intellectual inheritance, and thus, skyscrapers were born.

It was a rare moment for Alucard. He understood now, in a flash of blinding, gut-wrenching, humiliating epiphany, that he was truly enslaved to Integra. How did he know this? Simple. Alucard was very bored. And not only did boredom suggest his servitude, but the circumstances of said boredom. He had no clue what he was supposed to do.

He gripped the blood packet like a vise and threw it angrily over the edge. Integra was in India at the moment. She firmly ordered him to stay put in London, and he had to obey. Alucard was not happy at the idea of her taking off to the other side of the world alone. She told him she had a guide, but that didn't matter. She was vulnerable and Alucard was the only one who could protect her. Besides, he was not one to just sit around and twiddle his thumbs.

She had left no other orders. Alucard did not have a next step to take. When Seras had turned her eyes to him for direction, he told her to go rob a blood bank. He laughed a little, remembering her face. Shock had transformed into righteous indignation, finally settling into resignation as she realized the necessity of such an outrageous demand. She seemed glad to be doing something useful, at least. Alucard generally enjoyed being the center of attention. He liked giving the orders, having Seras look up to him for help, counsel and inspiration. It had been a circumstance long denied until he'd made for himself a pet. Integra would never defer to him for anything, though he understood her desire to do so on occasion. And all the men viewed Alucard's power in equal parts awe-inspiring and awful in its horror. It was a sentiment Alucard liked to encourage. But, for some reason, Integra had only feared him once in her whole life. Just once. Before she knew him. Before he effectively saved her life.

By all rights, she should be bound to him! It was a blood debt, a life for a life. Instead, he willingly allowed himself to be taken. Taken in, turned inside out and tossed around by an obnoxious little girl turned brazen woman.

At first it was simply to free himself.

Alucard was by no means a weakling, even against spiritual binding spells. He could have simply killed the child in a heartbeat. She needn't have felt a thing. But the Hellsings would still have owned a part of his soul. And Goddammit he wanted it back. To steal his soul, he had to bribe the Hellsing.

And so he waited. Waited for Integra to give in. But somewhere along the way, he lost sight of the goal and decided to simply let a game be a game. He loved the mind tricks, as he knew she did. He loved the verbal battles they enacted against one another. He loved the constant struggle between them for the last command, the last word. He lo— _enjoyed_ her.

And what really was the definition of a slave? His existence defined Integra just as much as hers defined him. One could not be a master if there was nobody willing to be mastered. And without a master, a slave did not exist. Each defined his existence from the existence of his opponent.

And the definition of freedom?

"When the slave kills the master."

Alucard should have heard her approaching. Not with his ears; her mind was like a brick crashing through the glass of his thoughts.

He instantly recognized her as old. Very old.

A beautiful woman, quite certain of her appeal, Sekhet sauntered to the edge and stood beside him, stopping gracefully without watching her feet. She wore a very simple blue dress, sleeveless and tied with a small gold ribbon empire style. Her arms and neck were bare, as though she understood she needed no adornment to enhance her beauty.

She looked out over the city and sighed in satisfaction. Alucard merely remained where he was, posture relaxed—lazy, even—and pulled out another blood packet to suck on as though deep in thought.

"Why do you do that?" Sekhet asked him quietly and with genuine curiosity.

"Seems a little rude to eat your coworkers." Alucard responded. He tossed the empty pack over the edge again, idly wondering what the mortals below thought of such debris.

"And you are the epitome of courtesy, I imagine?"

"I am always a gentleman." At this, she snorted rather ungracefully.

"I'm sure. So much a gentleman, you have yet to seize what is yours by right." Not a question. She said this casually, not looking at him, but brushing a stray hair away from her face. Alucard himself was completely unaffected by the wind.

"Why do you allow yourself to be lead on a leash by a child?" Sekhet asked, and turned and looked him full on, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. Her eyes searched his, for answers, for information. Confidence practically poured out of her being, and her mind was a tangible presence against the barriers in his own.

Alucard dropped his other leg and allowed it to dangle over the side. He answered her very carefully, after several moments, as though truly contemplating the question and its answers.

"And why not? Under the flag of the Hellsing organization, I can kill without compunction or worry of the political mess it may cause. Alone, I would be constantly hunted, and while that idea is not worrisome, it is mildly irritating." He absently picked a long blond hair off his leg. Integra's. Inwardly, he smiled, the thought providing a nice little barrier to this creature in and of itself. Charmingly, with a grin, he continued.

"So really, I'd say that gives me more freedom to do as I like."

"Yet you drink cold, _donated_ blood out of plastic bags stolen from hospitals." She pointed out. Alucard shrugged.

"Blood is blood." It was probably the biggest lie, amongst many, he had ever uttered in his long, unholy life.

Sekhet stared at him for a moment, eyes squinted like a human's, trying to discern his true meaning. Then she threw her head back and laughed. The sound actually sent chills up his spine. She gave _him_ the chills! Imagine that, he thought to himself. A monster like himself, disturbed by another monster. And that was certainly what she was.

"But really, Alucard! Why?" She made a grand gesture with her hands, to encompass him, the city, everything he did, it seemed. Alucard shook his head in mock resignation and laughed a little to himself.

"All of you are the same!" He spit out the word _you_ like it was offal on his tongue. "Whining about how miserable your lives are made by hunters, and then positively _angry_ to discover you can be easily off-ed by—and I use this phrase very loosely—_one of your own_ who is better than you. Vampires routinely pull out guns and knives in vain attempts to fend me off, then act so _stupidly_ surprised and offended when I'm still standing after the fire has died.

"Mercury, silver, crosses, sunlight, and the famed stake to the heart are extremely annoying, and then you all have the absolute nerve to wonder why I get pissed off and feel no remorse at slaughtering _my own kind_? Do you have any idea what _boredom_ can do to a mind? None of you can imagine what a real vampire does and can do! I have brought empires to their knees! The devil himself does not stand in my way! I have slaughtered thousands! Tens of thousands! Out of those, how many have given me any real sport? Two, maybe three. And since I cannot remember their names, I will say nobody has proven to be a true challenge.

"I suppose I might understand the jealousy that comes from meeting one's superior, but really, what on earth makes every last _comic-book_ one of you believe I am in a _human_ thrall?" Alucard was on the verge of laughing now, his blood warming with the ferocity of his rant.

The woman stood silent and unmoving in the face of his diatribe. Her whole body vibrated with anger and contempt. He simply stared at her calmly, eyes glinting red over his glasses, legs still draped lazily over the edge of the Canary Wharf Tower, not a hair or lapel ruffled by the wind. He grinned viciously, lips curling fiercely over sharpened teeth tinged red at the tips.

"Nobody has given you any real sport?" She murmured to herself. "How sad for you." And she whipped her hand out to her side, in a vast sweeping motion. A wave of heat and pressure so immense slammed into Alucard's body, and he leapt high into the air, flipping to land behind her on two feet.

"You want to play?" He asked her, almost joyfully. A delightful distraction from his morbid thoughts. The wind picked up around him, blowing off his hat into nothingness and swirling his black hair around his shoulders, whipping his coat tails behind him. "I've been spoiling for a fight! Please, give me all you've got, don't hold back!" His voice deepened and grew to a throaty snarl. His blood was pumping viciously. He flexed his hands, hearing bones crack pleasantly. The sigil on his gloves began to glow red, and a red-tinged mist rose up from the ground around him. He gave no thought as to whether this level of power had been called upon or not, but rather chose, without really having decided upon it, to unleash his strength upon this creature in what was promising to be a viciously satisfying battle.

His opponent turned around slowly and gracefully, her arms at her side, face locked in hard determination, and was it also curiosity?

"And why have you been spoiling for a fight, Alucard?" She asked demurely, and with a flick of her wrist, she sent small pellets of liquid glass at his face. He easily blocked them and sent them on their way with a small twist of his fingers.

"Why are you toying with me?" He demanded angrily. Surely she had more power within her than the paltry attacks she now exhibited? He was sorely disappointed thus far.

"Is it because you haven't been allowed to rise to your full potential?" She carried on, as though he'd said nothing. "Perhaps what is true in nature is true for the unnatural as well? You know, dam breaking, last straw on the camel's back sort of thing."

Alucard was tired of conversation. He wanted to fight, and she clearly was not going to give him one. He pulled out the Casull and the Jackel, aimed both at her head and emptied the clips. Bits of flesh and bone and bloody brain exploded into the air, then froze, as a scene in a film. The empty cavity of her neck and the lower half of her jaw seemed to suck the broken, bloodied bits of flesh back into place. The vampire's head began to rebuild itself, skull fusing back together, shard by shard, blood reclaimed by healed veins, muscles stringing together, curving around tendons. It was as though someone had found the universal remote and pressed reverse. Alucard watched in fascination, and admiration. Perhaps she was not so weak after all. Charmed, Alucard discarded his toys in favor of something a little more creative.

The Hellsing pentagram glowed red at his feet. The symbols within it danced and came to life, vibrating with energy. The stars above faded as a dark mass thicker than rain clouds settled over the city. Red, beady eyes blinked up from every surface of the roof. The sound of hundreds of snarling dogs raced toward them, claws scraping the ground, panting and hissing in anticipation of the carnage to begin. They formed in a mass against Alucard, slithering across the air, leaving behind them a slimy trail of black and red. The stench of sulfur filled the air as the beasts' gaping maws dripped blood infused saliva to the ground, where it sizzled and seared the concrete.

Sekhet observed the commotion in silence, but Alucard could feel the power building up within her. The pallor of her skin intensified, until she was an unearthly white. The black strands of her hair turned almost blue and seemed to writhe with their own life. Her nails became as glass and her lips dripped blood. Alucard smelled it and nearly gagged. It was not her blood, nor the blood of a recent feast. Rather, it reeked of rotting flesh, the centuries-old blood of war and slaughter. It was dead blood, and smelled of death itself. Her eyes were hard as agate and shone like gemstones. She lifted her arms in a grand sweep, then just as suddenly dropped them. She stood still, motionless as a marble statue as Alucard unleashed his brood upon her in an all-consuming rage of fire. She amassed no fight, no struggle against his demons.

Alucard was mildly disappointed that yet again he was to dispatch so weak an enemy. His eyes burned red, his grin widening to impossible, inhuman proportions as the hounds began to devour her body. The sound of jaws snapping bone and tearing flesh, the odd scent of singed hair and the taste of blood filled Alucard's senses. Curiously, there was no other sound. She did not scream in terror or pain. She did not claw at their insubstantial bodies. Simply fell and let them do their work. The hounds finished their unholy meal. Nothing was left. Not a speck of blood, not a hair, nail or bit of skin. The vampire called Sekhet was gone, leaving behind a deeply satisfied Alucard, as he had not been since the demise of Incognito. Still, he didn't understand the lack of resistance, even a verbal fight.

With a snort, Alucard extended his hand made a pulling gesture. The hounds seemed to melt into the concrete tiles at his feet, crawling and melting to the join the shadows of his own form. He closed his fist tightly, staring at it for a while, as though the air he held might be something most precious, most worthy of defense. In disgust with himself, he turned around and walked toward the edge of the tower. The city lights blinked innocently at him, mirroring the stars in the now clear sky. Nobody below had noticed the battle on the rooftop of the tower. Their lives carried on, unaware of the evil that awaited them around every corner. Innocent. _Stupid._

Enough. Alucard was through with waiting. Integra's orders be damned. He made as though to launch himself over the edge but stopped as a strange pulling sensation began in his core.

He fell to his knees as the pulling became pain and then a fiery burn. Eyes wide, Alucard released a roaring scream in sheer agony as his body fought the urge to explode. Never could he remember having felt pain. Not like this. Dull aches as silver and mercury burned his flesh; the slight, unpleasant tingle of holy water. Doubled over, he opened his mouth as the black shadows of his demons poured out in a putrid mass. Blood and black slime spilled from his eyes and nose, ears, every human orifice to pool in a mess about his body. There, from the remnants of his demon familiars, formed a single, atrocious hound, its head that of a jackal, ears back, teeth bared. Alucard struggled to stand. Green eyes the color of moss opened to fix directly on Alucard's.

Alucard tried to summon his demons, but they simply weren't there. He looked at his hands, already beginning to burn. The white gloves had dissolved, leaving the red Hellsing sigils. They glowed red, and his hands began to smoke as the ancient symbols of power were literally etched, scorching into his flesh. Then they disappeared.

"Since you are so eager to use the human-made guns you despise from others, I will leave you to them." It spoke in Sekhet's voice. A soft purr in contrast to the hideous appearance. Noticing a small drop of blood at her paw, Sekhet leaned down to lick it up. Always tidy. She did not like mess. "You enjoy a good challenge, Alucard? Then I hope you enjoy your new status as, how did you put it? Oh yes, a _comic-book_ type." Sekhet turned to leave, her claws clicking on the cement. "Perhaps now that you have nothing to offer Integra, she might finally release you from your servitude. Consider this my gift to you, _one of my own._" She gracefully turned and stepped over the edge into air. Her hound body transformed back into her human form mid-fall, and she landed on the cement a beautiful, if oddly dressed, young woman, seemingly walking on air amongst the humans. Nobody noticed her, nobody questioned the fall and the impossibility of her surviving it. They went about their hurried lives, and Sekhet watched them in eager anticipation as she passed through the streets.

*******************

Alucard lay in his own mess on the roof. Blood still leaked out of every pore and orifice. He did not know if he was alive, dead or somewhere in between. He hoped fervently that he was dead or dying. He had to be. He felt curiously empty, as though he was nothing but a hollow shell, no insides, and no real outside either. Alucard felt…_gone_. Except he knew he couldn't be entirely gone because he was thinking, and he could feel. He doubled over and vomited bloody slime, wondering if perhaps he was eventually going to vomit himself inside out. He laughed, and continued to wretch even as he laughed. He could not hear anything but the roaring in his ears, like a freight train running through his head. The agony he felt, a crushing in his abdomen and the feeling of many tiny silver needles thrust in every limb, was unlike any he had ever known. He had to be dead and in Hell. Well, it had been a good run. He'd always figured a human would be the one to kill him. If he was honest, Alucard always thought Integra might. Or rather, that she would be the only one who could. Pity. He had been looking forward to that.

****************

"You prob'ly don' remember this place, as you were jus' a small thing." Bently offered. They had arrived at a decrepit mansion on the outskirts of Gangtok in the Sikkim state. It was an odd monstrosity, leering over the beauty of Sikkim. The pungent scent of cardamom and ginger filled the air, and Integra could see the crops over the fields. And something else…oranges. Clean and crisp. She remembered this. Not the place, not the sounds or the feel of this stone beneath her hand, or the wind in her hair, but the curious mix of orange and cardamom. How could she remember this? She could not have been more than an infant when she lived here, if indeed this was where she had lived. It was clear to her that no one had occupied this place for many years. And now she had come back to the scene, with nothing more than the need to know, to understand the experiments her family had engaged in. The woman—no, the vampire in her dreams had told her to uncover the secrets. What was more a mystery to her was that she was now in India, following the clues to her past a vampire had left for her. Integra reflected on how unlike herself she had felt since having been so violently evicted from her post. She had never felt so unsure of herself in her life. So unsure of everything. The vampire Sekhet had told her that they were alike. Integra intended to discover the meaning behind that, and perhaps also the nature of her enemy. Even if that enemy meant Alucard. Alucard… What exactly was the nature of his servitude to her and her family? What did Sekhet mean when she said that bond had been severed by Sir Hellsing? That could not be possible. Why then would such a creature willingly allow himself to be mastered? Integra did not consider herself to be particularly naïve, and so was all the more determined to discover what lay between her and her servant.

"Integra. Over here." The entrance to the mansion had been sealed off long ago, but the wood barricade was rotting and easily ripped down. Integra pulled, wood splintering and nails flying around her. The smell of age drifted over her, and she had only one moment's hesitation before pushing the massive steel doors open.

The interior was dark and dank, smelling strongly of dust and moisture eating anything it could. Bently dropped the sack he carried and rummaged around for the flashlights. Integra walked to the windows, briefly covered by shredded tapestries. She pulled them down, letting sunlight rage through the halls like acid, burning through the dust and mold of years.

Integra walked slowly, reverently, silently letting memories flood her. Whether they were her own, or simply conjured from the depths of a forgotten dream, nothing more than fanciful flights that leered at her through web covered mirrors, portraits of unfamiliar faces, bookcases stacked floor to vaulted ceiling; Integra did not know. She did not care. Her own memories were not what she came for. She came to see, and to find. Any evidence at all that may shed light on her family's dealings with the Millenium Group, with Sekhet. Anything at all regarding Alucard. Through every room Integra crept, pulling down drapes, breaking seals on doors. She wondered what had occurred here that had resolved the decision to let the earth swallow all evidence.

She pulled books down, flipped through them, threw them to the floor. No time for respect. A new energy seized her, as she knew she had come to the right place. She was here. She had come back. The books were all chemistry, biology, history. Nothing new there, she thought. This had been her father's boyhood home, the home of her grand-father, and generations past. Well, one of them, at least. She pulled another book down and closed her eyes gratefully. The cover was stamped with the Hellsing family seal. She opened it gingerly, and used her flashlight to read.

_October 5__th__, 1892_

_This was not what I had imagined. The vampyre Dracul is not a creature of ordinary measure, to which I have sadly become accustomed. Its power is beyond that of any ordinary blood-drinker I have ever encountered. _

_A full year after the Harker incident, and still it shows no signs of death or weakness. It allowed me to take it. No blood for a year, and the creature looks just as it did to dear Mina that first day. This—vampyre—does not need blood. It simply hungers for it. Like a child with a toy. No! That description is abhorrent to me. This thing is no child. It is cunning and brings destruction to all it touches. _

_Still…_

_Perhaps it is evil of me to even contemplate, let alone write, but…_

_To think what power must exist within that thing! If only it could conceivably be harnessed, and released upon my command? The righteous such as I, should we hold such power ourselves? Mere mortals? But surely if it were used to rid the world of other such evils? _

Integra continued to read. There were significant gaps of several months throughout the diary. And no signature with which to appoint the writer, but she was certain it belonged to her great-great grandfather, Abraham Van Helsing. A scientist first and foremost, the man had made his first encounter with the undead here in India, so his papers had told her. Her father had given them to her during her lessons. They described creatures so filthy in their very souls that Hell spat them out in disgust. Soulless creatures whose very existence was an abomination in the sight of God and man. Integra perused the diary, finding nothing of value. All entries were reflections on the power of the vampyre called Dracul, a being Integra was certain meant Alucard. She did not care about Van Helsing's descriptions of his powers, for she was already well-acquainted with them. She put the book away and continued to look around. The massive library was so daunting it was depressing. She would never get through all those books if she lived several lifetimes. Perhaps it had been a wasted trip. Perhaps she was wrong? It wouldn't be the first time. Still…

Integra wandered through the rooms. They house looked as though it had been abandoned completely in the midst of the day. Nothing had been packed. Nothing had been taken. Everything had been left behind, as though its inhabitants were fleeing from something. Integra came into a study; at least she thought that was what it might have been at some point. The portrait on the wall looked vaguely familiar. It was a woman with long strawberry blond hair. Her eyes were bright blue, and her nose resembled…This must be her great-great paternal grandmother, Integra thought. Genevieve. Integra thought she looked too inviting for her own good. The eyes radiated warmth and the smile…Definitely a relative. She had seen pictures of her father's parents, and the Hellsing nose was something Integra was destined never to escape. Straight and narrow, given to her grandfather, father and now her.

Turning, Integra opened drawers in the bureau, finding nothing but letters to various noblemen in the country. She shoved them in the bag she carried, along with notebooks, several alchemy books and treatises. Her bag was getting heavy. She hoped she had collected anything of importance. Her eyes caught a small, hand painted portrait of the person who had be Genevieve. She was holding an infant, perhaps Alexander Van Helsing? Integra's great-grandfather. Integra picked it up and studied the portrait. From the style of painting, it must have been painted by one of the locals, rather than commissioned by an English artist. The infant Alexander wore something around his neck, a curious addition to his very proper English swaddling clothes. Integra shone her light over it, and her eyes widened in shock. It was a small dakini, embraced in silver and precious stones, strung upon a chain. Her dakini.

"Integra!" Bently called to her urgently. Startled, Integra dropped the picture, and the glass shattered at her feet. She jumped back, pulling the knife out of her boot, thinking that perhaps she should have brought more protection.

"Integra, we need to leave. Immediately!"

"Why? What has happened?"

"There's a mob of people outside the mansion. I haven' a gander wot their intent may be, but they look to be an unsavory sort." Integra nodded and bent to pick up the picture. Underneath the broken glass, the portrait remained unharmed. She lifted it, to find a small bit of folded parchment underneath. It must have been concealed behind the portrait. She began to unfold it when Bently's angered voice cut her off.

"Now!"

Integra stored the picture and its curious partner in her bag and followed Bently outside.

There was indeed a mob of people. And they did in fact look to be an unsavory sort. Integra stood up straight and inhaled deeply. This was not going to be easy.

A/N: So…an update!!! Two years later!!!! Yay!!!!! Okay, seriously, I'm sorry. And yes, anyone interested in reading this is probably going to have to go back and re-read the first 7 chapters before understanding this half chapter. Um…sorry? Unfortunately, life has been in complete flux for these two years, stuff I won't get into because it won't interest anyone. But, I would absolutely welcome suggestions, as I haven't written ANYTHING in quite a while. Obviously. That, and I can't write fight scenes for sh*t. Please advise me. Thanks to all. Happy reading.

~gugalanna


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